


Mosaics

by KaytiKazoo



Series: How To Redeem One Grant Ward [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Accidental Teleportation, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Future Fic, Getting to Know Each Other, Grant Ward Feels, Post-Canon, Reading Aloud, Road Trips, Smut, Time Travel, fitzsimmons' daughter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22774657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaytiKazoo/pseuds/KaytiKazoo
Summary: Elizabeth "Bitty" Fitz-Simmons, daughter of the great Leo and Jemma Fitz-Simmons, goes time traveling, and finds herself meeting Grant Ward from the past, and having an adventure along the way.
Relationships: Grant Ward/Original Female Character(s)
Series: How To Redeem One Grant Ward [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653124
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	Mosaics

_“We are mosaics - pieces of light, love, history, stars -- glued together with magic and music and words._ ”

-Anita Krizzan 

She shouldn’t have told Brennan Johnson what she was doing, apparently. 

“You’re absolutely crazy,” Brennan said from the side of the lab, watching her fiddle with the dial to tune the device. She didn’t want to go too far, after all. “Your parents are going to kill you when they find out.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. So much for “you can trust me with anything, Bits.” So much for “I’m always on your side, Bits.” So much for “whatever you want to do, Bitty, I’ve got your back for the rest of our lives.” Who would have guessed that the son of Daisy Johnson would be a fair-weather friend? 

“If they find out, you mean” she challenged. “I’ll be there and back before they know I’m gone. Besides, you heard Uncle Mack, we need it. Right? And no one has seen it since it was inventoried. If I can go back -” 

“They’re going to find out before you can get it,” he said, pulling himself up onto the lab table without pause. “They have eyes everywhere. They have eyes on this lab. They probably have eyes in the past somehow, too.” 

“They won’t know to look if you don’t snitch. Besides, you’re too old to believe your mom has superpowers.” 

“I’m not going to snitch, but your parents will find out. And my mom _does_ have superpowers.” 

She strapped the device around her waist like a belt, and attuned it to her own signature, like a shiver through her spine. 

“This is just a really terrible idea, Bitty. It’s not worth it.” 

“It’s not a terrible idea, and it will be worth it. You’ll see.” 

“You’re going to get hurt.” 

“I’m not. Stop.” 

“Just, don’t die, okay? Don’t die doing this. Your dad won’t ever forgive me if you die because I let you go and do this thing when I clearly could have stopped you.” 

Before she left, she crossed the room and leaned into Brennan’s space. He was a year younger than her, an orphaned Inhuman that Daisy had adopted and brought home when he was ten, and Bitty had found the other half of her platonic soul in him. They did everything together, even rattled around this big, empty tin can of a base when their parents were away. 

“You couldn’t have stopped me, and they all know that,” she said, resting her forehead against his, the tips of their noses touching. Softer, she added, “I’m coming home, okay?” 

“If you don’t, I’m selling all of your stuff for a bigger VR booth.” 

“As long as you keep my flower by your booth to remind you of who made that possible.” 

He shook his head, but didn’t argue. 

“Be good, Johnson.” 

“Come home, Fitz-Simmons.” 

Bitty grinned, winking at him and stepping away to put some distance between them. When she was satisfied, she gave him one last look, and pressed the activation button at her hip. It was a weird sensation, pain and buzzing all over her skin, a vibration that she felt down into every one of her cells, pleasure like flowers bloomed across her existence, and she felt as if she were made and unmade in the same instance. 

When she landed, she stumbled through bleary eyes and fell into the nearest brush to throw up her lunch. 

“Holy shit, are you okay?” a voice asked, soft and concerned. She held up a finger towards them and wiped her mouth on the hem of her shirt. When she lifted her head to look around, she was not where she expected to be. The device wasn’t supposed to move her from her location in the Lighthouse, just laterally through time. Yet, here she was, outside, in a park. 

“This is going to sound weird, but where am I?” 

The man, gorgeous with bright brown eyes and thick dark hair, quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“Just outside Boulder, Colorado.” 

“Okay, okay, that’s - that’s nowhere near where I’m supposed to be,” she said, and there was a painful hitch in her next breath. She must’ve messed up something in her father’s design when she’d rebuilt it, mistranslated it as she made it portable. Of course, she did. She wasn’t Leo Fitz. Brennan was right, and she hated when Brennan was right. 

“How did you get here, then?” 

She looked around, trying to figure out where she was and why she wasn’t in the base still. It had been built decades before she was even born, so it wasn’t like it wasn’t there yet. Unless – no, the man crouched near her was wearing fairly modern clothes. Well, modern for the mid- to late-2000's, not modern by her standards. The Lighthouse had been built, then, just not in Colorado. 

“I don’t know.” 

She wasn’t in a park, on second inspection, but in a forest, instead, and the man, barely older than herself, had this terrifying rifle on his shoulder. He himself didn’t have the same menace to him, though. He looked tired, like he wanted to lay down on the grass and take a nap for a couple of years. 

“That’s not good.” 

“Not entirely. You said Colorado?” 

“Just outside of Boulder.” 

“Fuck me, that’s so far.” 

“Where do you remember being last?” 

“River’s End, New York, on Lake Ontario.” 

“That is really far,” the man agreed. “And you’re not hurt, are you?” 

“No, I’m fine, if you’ll ignore my vomit in this bush.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of mentioning a lady’s vomit.” 

He had a nice smile, sad and lonely around the edges, a hardness in his face that intrigued Bitty. Whoever he was, he was haunted by ghosts that wouldn’t let him go. Even she, a stranger, could see that. It was in the way his eyes darted around them, checking their surroundings over and over, flitting up and down Bitty, assessing. 

“I’m Bitty, by the way,” she said, sticking her hand out automatically and then withdrawing it after remembering she’d wiped her mouth with her shirt. “Maybe not a handshake moment, then.” 

“Grant,” he replied. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Grant.” 

“Not to be rude but what kind of name is _Bitty_?” 

“Oh, a nickname, actually. My name is Elizabeth, but my mum didn’t really like any of the short names so she’s always called be Bitty or Bitsy since I was a baby.” 

“That’s really cute.” 

She couldn’t help her grin, then the tell-tale blush that she’d inherited from Leo Fitz. She’d always thought she was more Simmons than Fitz, but the older she got, the more she acted like her father. She had a wicked temper that she’d seen from her father sparingly growing up, an impatience he’d fought against to take care of her and love her. Her mother had compassion that tamed her father, but Bitty’s temper remained unchecked, 

“Well, Bitty,” Grant said, and Bitty didn’t consider herself attracted to voices alone, but his voice when he said her name was addicting. “Let’s get you back to Lake Ontario.” 

He stood and held out his hand for her. 

“Are you the one who -” 

She gestured around them, even though she knew that he wasn’t, unless this guy somehow sabotaged her device in the future. Unlikely. She had to at least act wary of him, or else he might question why she was so trusting. 

“What? No.” 

“Okay, well, cool. Lead the way, then.” 

* * *

“What are _you_ doing out here?” she asked ten minutes into their hike out of the forest. She’d been trying not to ask, but she was never that quiet for that long. “And why do you have a gun?” 

“What, they don’t have hunting where you’re from? Which is where, exactly?” 

“They do, but hunters wear reflective clothes so they don’t get shot.” 

“Where’s that accent from?” 

“It’s a little complicated. My mum is English, and my dad is Scottish, but I was raised in the United States, so it’s a little of everything.” 

“I like it,” he said, “it’s unique.” 

“Thanks. I made it myself,” she said without thinking, and then winced. “Sort of.” 

He laughed, and it made her smile, the tired sadness in his eyes easing when he laughed. 

“So, do you live around here? Are you from Colorado?” 

“No,” he said, “I’m from Massachusetts, but I’m not really living anywhere at the moment.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -” 

“No, you don’t have to be. I’m okay with it. I’ve been living on the land for about five years. I live here, in the forest, so I don’t have a home, but I don’t need one.” 

There was a rustle behind them that made her tense up, but Grant’s face remained relaxed as a chocolate lab bounded into the clearing with them, carrying a pheasant by the neck. 

“Oh, there you are,” Grant said, leaning down to take the pheasant and then scratch behind the dog’s ear. “This is Buddy. Buddy, this is Bitty.” 

“He’s gorgeous,” she said, dropping down to offer her hand. He happily bumped his big head into her palm and she grinned. “Dad would never let me have a dog growing up. Said it wasn’t a good idea considering they were never home, and everything. And I just graduated college or else I’d have gotten one from the shelter.” 

“He’s a good dog,” Grant replied. “Been at my side for five years now. Loves having a job, too.” 

“Oh, what a good boy. Do you help Grant, Buddy?” she cooed, ruffling his ears. “As soon as I get back home, I’m getting a dog from the shelter. Dad can’t stop me now.” 

“What exactly does your dad do? You said that he’s never home.” 

“Not often, at least. He’s an engineer on this mobile team with my mum so they’re always away from home.” 

It wasn’t a lie, but it was easier than trying to explain that her parents were Agents of SHIELD and technically, so was she. Sort of. 

“That sounds great to me,” he replied. She smiled, but even she could sense there was a sadness in it. 

“It was really lonely, actually. I stayed with someone different every time, and I just wanted my parents around.” 

There was also the possibility that they wouldn’t come home at all, and she would be an orphan, Fitz-Simmons without Fitz or Simmons. 

“That sucks, I’m sorry.” 

She shrugged and kept walking through the forest. The device was heavy on her hip, chafing against her stomach, and her entire gut kept clenching and aching. She wasn’t wearing the best shoes for hiking, having grabbed her ballet flats for this. It wasn’t like she’d expected to go hiking. She was just going into the Lighthouse, just in the past, where the halls and floors were flat. 

“How much longer until we reach, like, a road?” she asked, wiggling her toes in the flats. 

“We’re pretty deep in the forest. I’d say five, maybe six hours of walking, at least, maybe more.” 

“Fuck me,” she groaned. “That’s so far.” 

“That’s why I’m concerned at why, or how are you out here? You’re sure you don’t remember anything?” 

“No, no, I, I guess the last thing I remember is that I was at home in River’s End.” 

It wasn’t technically a lie, she had been at home, she was in River’s End, and it was the last thing she remembered before using the device currently strapped to her hip like an awkward fanny pack. She thought briefly about using the device to go back before anyone did notice she was gone, but her whole body revolted at the idea of time traveling again so quickly. 

“How did you get out here?” he mused quietly. “You sure you’re okay?” 

“I think so.” 

“Let me look at you really quick.” 

She stopped at a plateau in the sunshine and he stepped close to her. His hands were callused and rough, but his touch was gentle when he touched her. He started by running his fingers over her scalp, pushing her hair aside while he searched for some bruise or bump. There was a cute frown on his face when he found nothing. 

“Can I see your eyes?” he asked. She looked up at him directly, making sure to widen them slightly. “You have pretty eyes.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Your pupils are normal, so it’s either drugs that are out of your system now or you have some short-term memory loss.” 

She wanted to kiss him, which was absurd because they’d only known each other for 15 minutes, but everything about Grant was drawing her in like a magnet. She’d let him run his hands all over her if he wanted a more thorough exam. It had been awhile since she’d so much as kissed anyone, so she’d eagerly let Grant do what she wanted. 

“Guess I’m just going to keep an eye on you,” he said. 

“Guess you will,” she said, an invitation if he wanted it. 

“If you feel anything that hurts or you feel sick, let me know.” 

“You’re a sweet guy, Grant,” she said. 

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “No, I’m not.” 

“Maybe not with the world, but you are with me. You have been. I like that.” 

“Well, I’m glad,” he muttered, but drew away from her. 

“Lead the way,” she said, stepping back away from his as well, taking the declination gracefully. She wasn’t stupid or pushy; if Grant didn’t want her back, that was fine. He was gorgeous, sure, and she was very interested in finding out just how large his hands were in comparison to her hips, but she could keep her hands to herself. “Can we avoid rocks? My feet aren’t equipped for this.” 

She shook the ballet flat towards him. 

“I can carry you if you want. Or give you a piggyback ride.” 

“Not yet. But talk to me in an hour. I’m sure I’ll change my mind by them.” 

* * *

“Are your parents going to be looking for you? Could we get them a message in town?” Grant asked an hour later, pausing to let her catch up. 

“Probably, but they’re going to have a really hard time finding me out here in the middle of nowhere, huh. And I never remember the home phone number so I’m not sure we’d be able to contact them.” 

That’s how people in the past called each other, right, she thought, they remembered the number and called. She considered the phone in her pocket, useless for the next forty years. Cell phones barely existed in this time, let alone sleek touch phones with hologram capabilities. She wished she could just call her dad and ask for help. It was guaranteed that he would come running to get her. That’s what she loved most about her father, what she strived to be, too. She’d grown up hearing the stories of how her father stopped at nothing to get her mother back, crossing the universe for her, risking everything including his own life. 

It had taken her three months to build Fitz’s design, just smaller. When, or if they realized she was gone, Fitz could build the same thing in hours. But the location movement would make it harder for him. But not impossible. He was Leopold Fitz, after all. 

“Considering you’re in the middle of nowhere about two thousand miles from home, I’d say they’ll have a hard time,” he agreed. 

“I wouldn’t put it past my dad, though. He’s, uhm, _driven_.” 

“He’s not, you know, abusive, though, right?” 

“No! God, no, my dad barely raises his voice to me, let alone his hand.” 

“Sorry if that was forward. I’m just trying to figure out how you got out here. If you were hurt, or had some kind of trauma, maybe you were in a fugue state.” 

“Oh,” she said. 

She knew that her father hadn’t been treated very well by his own father, had been verbally abused until he was ten when his father left. She’d known since she was little that her dad would never hurt her; he’d held her and cried into her hair the first time he’d scared her with his anger. He’d kissed her cheeks and promised her he’d never, ever hurt her. 

“I didn’t think of that.” 

But what if she had landed in River’s End and had found her way here without knowing what she had done, what had happened to her? It’s not like she could base her memory gaps on time, as she didn’t even know what year it had landed her in. 

She wasn’t watching where she stepped, too wrapped up in her inner turmoil, and suddenly, her ankle was twisting out from underneath her, and she was falling sideways. 

“Fuck,” she hissed, as Grant turned to look at her. “Guess you should have carried me.” 

“How did you even manage this?” he asked, coming back to her side. “We’re walking downhill, vaguely, barely.” 

“Listen, have you ever tried hiking down a mountain in ballet flats? It’s fucking difficult.” 

He crouched down and she poked him in the chest playfully. 

“Hey,” he laughed, snatching her hand with reflexes she’d only seen in agents growing up. “Let me look at it, you big baby.” 

Despite his playful glare, when he wrapped his hand around her ankle, he did so with extreme care and without jostling her. Her mother, a doctor in more than one sense, was the only person who had the same care. 

“You said that you graduated college recently?” 

“What? Oh, yeah, from Cornell, with a bachelors in Linguistics, a masters in Linguistics, and also a bachelors in chemical engineering, for fun.” 

“You what?” 

She laughed, watching the way he carefully pushed on her ankle and then tried to move her foot in a circle. 

“Ow, fuck me,” she groaned, instinctually trying to pull her foot away. 

“Looks like it’s just sprained, but you shouldn’t walk on it.” 

“Looks like I’ll take that piggyback ride now,” she said. 

“This actually isn’t a bad place to camp. It’s getting dark and we both need to rest,” he said, gesturing to the flat land nearby and to the vibrant sunset. “If you don’t mind. I don’t want to slip and hurt you more.” 

“That’s very kind of you, Grant.” 

He dropped his bag onto the ground with his rifle. 

“Do you have medical training?” she asked. She couldn’t help herself. He had the air of an agent but he was so young, and in the middle of nowhere. He intrigued her in a way that she wasn’t used to. People weren’t super interesting to her, but Grant was different. She didn’t know what to do with her curiosity. 

Historically, her curiosity ended in explosions. 

And electrical fires. 

And, more times than she should admit to, a trip to her mum’s medical wing for a patch up. 

“I have a lot of training; field medic is one of the areas, yes.” 

“Field medic,” she repeated. 

He acted like a soldier, like he was ready for a fight with how he was poised, whatever this training was. The way he spoke, too, referencing a field medic instead of a paramedic or an EMT; it intrigued her. 

“My, uhhh, I guess he’s a mentor, you could say, he wants me to be prepared for everything. So, he’s taught me self-defense and how to bandage a wound and how to hunt for my food.” 

“A survivalist,” Bitty stated and Grant shrugged at that. “You’re very strange. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.” 

“I could say the same about you. How do you even get three degrees at, what, 21?” 

“My mum had two PhDs at 17,” she answered with a shrug of her own. 

“So, your genius is genetic,” he said. 

She wasn’t sure that was true, she was a Fitz-Simmons, but she’d never felt on par with them. She spoke fifteen languages and could read and understand about a dozen more, but she wasn’t sure she was living up to the Fitz-Simmons legacy. She was intelligent, sure, but just because she spoke a couple languages, she wasn’t sure that that made her a genius. 

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” she said with a small, awkward laugh. 

“You don’t think you’re smart?” 

“No, that’s — I’m smart. I know that. But there’s a big gap between smart and genius. My mum, and my dad, they’re _geniuses._ They’re amazing. I grew up wanting to be just like them, but I’m not -” 

“Well,” Grant said, cutting her off, “I doubt that’s true. You have two vastly different degrees. Why linguistics?” 

“Oh, uhm, I’m really good with language. I learn languages quickly.” 

“How many do you speak?” 

“Fluently? Fifteen.” 

“Fifteen! That’s a lot!” 

She shrugged. 

“I started when I was five. I had a friend who was hard of hearing so I demanded my dad teach me sign language. Except my dad doesn’t know ASL either, so I found an instruction book and taught myself.” 

“You’re not a genius, but you taught yourself a whole new language at 5 years old? Sure. Okay. What other languages do you know?” 

“Oh, well, Spanish, Mandarin, Arabic, Russian, French, Portuguese, Italian, Scots, Welsh, Hindustani, Bengali, Malay, and Japanese. That’s my fluent languages, including ASL and English.” 

“Holy shit, really?” 

“I can understand and read a lot more, and I’m working on becoming fluent in Vietnamese and Korean. There’s so many languages in the world, and I know I can’t learn all of them, but I want to speak as many as I can.” 

“What the hell is Scots?” 

“One of the languages spoken in Scotland. My dad didn’t know I was learning it until we went back to visit my Gran and I spoke to her in Scots. He was absolutely delighted,” she said, watching Grant carefully wrap her ankle. “What about you?” 

“Me?” 

“Well, we’ve talked a lot about me.” 

“I don’t speak any other languages,” he answered. 

She kicked at him playfully with her uninjured foot, which he caught again with the ease and grace of a trained soldier. He dragged her easily towards him until she sat between his legs, looking up at him. 

“Why do you want to know?” 

“Can’t a girl get to know a stranger in the woods?” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Not safely.” 

“I can handle myself.” 

She’d been taught by Daisy, Mack, Yo-Yo, as well as her parents how to defend and protect herself since she was little. She knew how to use her opponent’s size against them and how to improvise a weapon out of junk around her. She was an honorary SHIELD agent simply by living in the Lighthouse, and lending her language knowledge where it was needed, and because of that, she needed to be able to fend off any attacks. 

“Can you?” 

It sounded like a challenge. 

Even injured and outweighed, Bitty wrapped her legs around his waist and used Grant’s own weight against him in order to flip them so Grant lay on his back below her, her thighs straddling his waist. 

“I’m easy to misjudge and underestimate.” 

“I won’t make that mistake again.” 

“Good,” she said, grinning at him and moving off his hips to sit on the ground. “Now, tell me something about you.” 

“Anything?” 

She thought about it for a moment. 

“How about this, I ask you a question, and then you ask me a question about myself. That way it’s not just all about me.” 

“Why do you want to know me this bad?” 

“It’s not your turn, Grant,” she teased. He sat up and watched her with careful eyes. “What is your favorite color?” 

“What? That’s what you’re going with?” 

“Yeah. You don’t seem to want to open up so I’m starting you off easy. Don’t want to scare you away.” 

“Uhm, it’s blue.” 

“Oh, cool! Blue of any shade, or a particular blue?” 

“I really like a blue kind of light, almost grey, like your shirt, actually.” 

“You’re cute,” she said without thinking. A tiny blush he clearly didn’t mean to let show colored his cheeks. 

“How’d you learn to fight?” 

“Oh, from my parents and my aunts and uncles. They wanted to make sure I could take care of myself.” 

“Follow up?” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Why are all your aunts and uncles fighters?” 

“Oh, hazards of their job, I guess.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her. 

“Okay, vague, but okay.” 

“What about you? What’s your survivalist mentor training you for?” 

He didn’t reply, and there was a flinch in his face Bitty couldn’t ignore. She might have stepped too far, but she’d never had tact. She pushed and pried, demanding more than people were comfortable giving. She’d had two partners since she was 15, both who broke up with her because of that. 

“I should get a fire started. Come here.” 

He slipped his arms underneath her and lifted her up easily and moved her over to a clearing nearby, setting her on the ground by the firepit someone had created before. 

“I’m going to gather some firewood. There’s some food in my pack if you’re hungry. Stay with me, Buddy.” 

Then, carrying his rifle, Grant disappeared into the woods away from her. 

“Good job, Bitty. You did it again.” 

* * *

Grant came back sometime later with an armful of sticks, twigs, and logs, and Buddy came trotting alongside him, another pheasant dangling helpfully from his mouth. 

“Well, look at you,” she cooed, mostly at Buddy but Grant looked at her at the sound of her voice. “What a good boy.” 

Buddy let her take the pheasant and sat waiting, expectant. When she extended her hand, he ducked his head underneath it to put her palm between his ears. She scratched happily while Grant set to work on the fire. 

“You’re a good boy too, Grant,” Bitty added, watching the way he carefully staged the wood in the makeshift firepit to allow the fire to breath when he lit it, small, dry twigs and grass at the bottom to catch. His hands were careful, and exact, and Bitty couldn’t look away from them, from him. 

“Thanks,” he replied. 

They fell into an uneasy, uncomfortable silence, and Bitty was notoriously and historically Not Good with silences. Her mum always said that it felt like Bitty was trying to outrun the quiet. 

“Hey,” Bitty said quietly, kicking her good foot towards him, her legs too short to actually reach him. Her parents weren’t exactly tall themselves, no one in her family was. “Sorry for pushing earlier. My dad has always said that I’m a little too forward when it comes to new people, said that I don’t give people enough room to breathe, or get used to me. You don’t have to tell me anything.” 

“It was forward,” he agreed, “but I also reacted too strongly. I’m not used to people asking questions, or people caring to get to know me.” 

“Well, I care,” she said defiantly. 

“You don’t know me,” he said, and the sound was quiet even in the whispering woods around them. 

“Not with that attitude, of course,” she replied lightly. “I’ll ask easier questions, if you want me to keep going, or not ask any at all. You don’t have to answer anything. You don’t owe me that.” 

“I don’t know why, or how, but I like you, Bitty, so, I want to get to know you, and have you know me back,” he said haltingly, and he looked honestly like he was a struggling. He could survive off the land, hunt, gather, and build a fire, but truth and emotions stumbled him. 

“Okay,” she started to say, to assure him. 

“He’s training me to join him at his organization, or that’s what he said it’s for. He’s headed to the recruitment center in a month to talk to them,” Grant said. 

“Tell me about him?” 

She said it softly, afraid to spook him despite his admission. 

“He’s a little odd,” he said slowly, “always has been, isolates himself, but Garrett saved my life, so I’ll do anything he asks to repay that, even if that means living out here, surviving off the land like this.” 

Something tickles at the back of Bitty’s brain, familiar and startling, but she couldn’t quite touch what it was. 

“Follow up?” she asked after a beat of silence. Grant nodded. She figured she’d go out on the limb. There was only one reason she could think of that someone would be recruited into an organization after a training like this. They were going to be a secret agent undercover or under pressure in all types of situations. “Is his organization SHIELD?” 

Grant’s expression didn’t change, and for a second, Bitty worried that she’d been wrong. But then, he frowned. 

“How do you – okay, how do you know that? How would you – your parents, your aunts and uncles, they’re SHIELD agents, too.” 

“They are,” Bitty confirmed, pulling her legs up towards her chest but regretting it as soon as her ankle took any weight. “Have been since before I was born.” 

She thought about before she was born, about SHIELD, about her parents, about _Garrett_. 

“I’ve heard of John Garrett,” she said carefully, which isn’t untrue entirely, but she also wasn’t sure how true it was either. 

Her father had drowned nearly a decade before she was born, and had suffered from a severe brain injury he had never really shaken all the way. They hadn’t ever told her who caused it, but she had done a sneaky dig through the remaining files following SHIELD’s many collapses, and HQ decays, over the years to find one name: John Garrett, a Hydra agent working inside SHIELD, a mole responsible for so many deaths. 

“Have you?” 

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was unintentionally clipped, cold, the image of her father’s shaking hands sometimes flashing through her mind. “I haven’t heard very good things.” 

“He’s odd,” Grant repeated. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Be careful with him, okay?” 

“I will.” 

She shuffled towards him, avoiding her bad ankle and put her hand on his arm. He was warm, his skin smooth and golden under her fingers, and his eyes flit up to meet hers. 

“Please.” 

It worked like a charm, because all of a sudden, Grant was kissing her, the match he’d taken out to light the fire dropping into the kindling as his hands came up to her face. His mouth on hers was hot and heavy, and she wanted nothing more than to have him all over her, mouth and hands, and their bodies sliding together. Her hands wandered up the firm muscle of his chest and gripped in the material of his shirt, holding him close to her. 

She didn’t want people this way, visceral and close and hot. Not often. Not deep and unending like this. 

“Mmmm, wait,” she managed, releasing his shirt so he could sit back, and he did immediately without hesitation, without trying to convince her to keep going. “If this is going any further, it’s not going to be near a dead bird corpse.” 

His laugh was nice, sweet but unused, crackling around the edges. 

“Dinner first, then, my lady?” he asked, and there was something playful about it. 

“I’m old fashioned like that,” she answered. He leaned in and kissed her again, quicker, softer, a semi-colon promising something more to come. 

“Have you ever cleaned a bird?” Grant asked, taking the pheasant from where she had set it. 

“No, but I’m not opposed to learning new things.” 

“I like a girl not afraid to get a little dirty,” he said and brought over his pack to take out two knives, one he handed to her, and the other he used to show her the steps on the spare pheasant. 

After, he showed her how to build and maintain the fire, how to set the logs so that the fire didn’t suffocate, how to set up a spit for roasting, and he made them a beautifully cooked dinner of roasted pheasant and corn on the cob that he’d nicked from a farmer’s field a few days back. 

“How’s your ankle feel?” he asked, passing her a cloth napkin to wipe her hands and face, dampened with the bottle of water they’d been sharing. 

“Not great, if I’m honest,” she laughed. She carefully flexed her foot and hissed as the joint twinged. 

“Okay, let’s wrap that, at least.” 

He fished a roll of ace bandages from his bag and set to work on her ankle, holding her leg delicately while he wrapped it snugly around. 

“Hey,” she said, catching his arm before he moved out of his space. She was full and warm, and Grant was intoxicating in a way she wasn’t used to with men, or people. “Come here.” 

He moved into her again, hovering near but not closing the distance between their mouths just yet. 

“Do you want me to kiss you, Bitty?” he asked, voice low. 

“Yes.” 

He kissed her, unhurried, a pleasant weight against her, his hands holding her hips to keep himself steady. Her own hands resumed their grip in his shirt, anchoring them together. His mouth opened against hers, tongue sliding hot along her lower lip. 

“Fuck,” he groaned into her, hands starting to ruck up her shirt on their own, palms warm against her skin. “I haven’t done this in a while.” 

He said it like an apology, which Bitty couldn’t understand. 

“Garrett wants me to avoid sex, told me to,” he continued, and Bitty’s eyes narrowed at that. “He doesn’t want me to get attached to people. He said that SHIELD agents have to be free of romantic and personal attachments.” 

“Well, Garrett and I certainly disagree there. My parents are good SHIELD agents, some of the best, and they’re grossly in love, and created me.” 

“Yeah,” he said, stroking up and down her sides. 

“Besides,” she replied, trailing light kisses down his throat, “John Garrett is not here right now to see us. How is he going to know that you’re not being an abstinent good boy? I highly doubt that he’s clairvoyant.” 

“I suppose that’s true.” 

“Grant, do you want me?” 

“Yes,” he said, voice cracking at the edges. “God, yes.” 

She pushed her hands into his hair, the thickness of it sliding between her fingers, and he leaned into her touch. 

“Then, come and take me.” 

* * *

There was enough of a clearing around them that, lying against Grant in the sleeping bag he’d brought out for them to share, Bitty could see the stars winking above them. Grant trailed his fingers sleepily up and down her spine, head tipped back against the pillow. She watched the sky, planes making their way in the dark to Denver, blips of light against the unending sky. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked, sleep tugging at the corners of his words. 

“The sky,” she answered, tracing a design into Grant’s chest. “It’s so clear here. There’s just so much sky, and stars, and there’s no light pollution or smog. It’s so clear.” 

“It’s nice,” he muttered. 

“Dad designed a plane once that can go into space,” she said, not sure why she said it at all. He hadn’t done it yet here, not in the 2000s. Leo Fitz was barely a man here, two years into the Academy, in love with Jemma Simmons but too awkward to do anything about it. He was smart, but still just a student learning. He wouldn’t build Zephyr One into a space craft for over a decade. “I always wanted to see the stars.” 

“Your dad sounds like a great engineer.” 

“One of the best,” she said. “I wanted to be just like him, when I was a kid. He was my hero, still is sometimes, I suppose, as much as he can be when you’ve grown up and realized that everyone you know is just as much human as you are. But I went into engineering because of him.” 

“You did say your other major was engineering, right.” 

“Yes. I had a whole plan. I was going to get my PhD in linguistics, and then I would work towards a PhD in engineering as well.” 

“You’re really impressive, you know that? Smartest person I’ve ever been with.” 

“I just like learning, that’s all.” 

“And you’re _very_ good at it,” he said, kissing her forehead, quick and quiet and sweet. 

“I could stay out here forever,” she said, “never go back, just run away from everything with you.” 

Grant was quiet for a beat, and then said, “I’d like that. I’d like to get away. I didn’t realize how much I missed being around someone until you came along.” 

“Well, lucky for you, I mysteriously showed up here,” she said playfully. 

He took a long pause, hand coming up from where it rested on her waist to play with a loose curl that had fallen in front of her face. 

“Why did you trust me so easily? You woke up with no memory of how you got there, no idea who I was, and you just – you trusted me so easily.” 

“Because you have kind eyes, I think, and something about you is familiar to me. I have a pretty good sense of people most of the time, and you didn’t seem like you would hurt me.” 

“I won’t hurt you,” he said into the quiet, “I promise.” 

She tipped her head back, an invite for him to kiss her, which he obliged, kissing her slow and languid, all alone in this large, empty forest, no one expecting anything of then. They could kiss all night and rise only at their own leisure. It was seductive, the idea of staying there in 2005, curled up with a beautiful man she’d never have to introduce to her father, no need to hurry, no need to rush, just his mouth on hers forever. She wouldn’t have to face her parents about this little joyride through time, wouldn’t have to show them her failed copy of her father’s work and get yelled at about how irresponsible it was to use someone else’s designs and then use the device without proper testing. She could hear her father’s voice, berating her not as an angry parent but as a disappointed and displeased scientist. She could have a whole life here in these woods with this mystery man, and never have to go home. 

Except, of course, she had to go home, and face her father, and explain what she’d done. 

She couldn’t stay here with Grant. This was not where she belonged, not this place, not this time. Grant was about forty years older than her, old enough to be her father if she were in the right place in time, older than her father from the look of him. 

“You’re thinking too hard for me to be doing this right,” Grant said. 

“Sorry,” she replied automatically. “I can’t help it sometimes.” 

“I just need to step up my game, clearly,” he said, and slipped his hand down to her hip, over the curve of her ass and to the back of her thigh. Without almost no effort, he hoisted her up over him, her thigh pressed across his lap, his cock nestled easily in the crook of her hip. An unintentional moan slipped from her, pressing back into him. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, hands holding her in place while he moved slowly against her, a delicious friction against her skin where she was already sensitive, lighting fires up and down her spine. 

“Right now? You,” she replied, voice unintentionally breathing. 

“And the thing you’re trying not to think about?” 

“How fleeting this is. That you’ll get me to town, buy me a bus ticket, and that’s the last time I’ll see you.” 

“Yeah,” he replied. 

“Which certainly makes this exciting, something new and novel, but -” 

“Yeah,” he said again, hips slowing. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin the mood,” she said, kissing her apology into his warm skin, tasting the lingering sweat cooled in the night breeze. 

“We’ll just have to enjoy this while we can, then, won’t we?” he said, like a challenge, like an invitation. 

“I’m certainly enjoying myself already. Aren’t you?” 

“I am,” which he punctuated with a jerk of his hips. 

“Glad we’re in agreement here, then.” 

There was quiet for a while, just the sounds of their breathing matched with the breathing of the forest, the snap of the fire. When they settled again, spent, Bitty laughed happily. If this was living in the moment, something she’d been told she needed to do more by friends, family, classmates, coworkers, professors, she’d never look forward again. God, she wished she could freeze this moment and live here forever with him, learn all his secrets, hear all the little noises he made, find out everything about him that she could. He was a good teacher with the things they’d done to survive; she wondered what else he could teach her. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Could be the orgasm, but I’m just happy out here, with you. Which, isn’t normal for me, honestly.” 

She didn’t normally speak with audible pauses; she could feel the halting truth tumbling out of her. Grant did something to her that she couldn’t explain. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My entire life I’ve just been caught up in this idea that I have to be my parents, that I have to surpass them somehow, that if Fitz and Simmons can come together after everything that’s tried to tear them apart and find love and make _me_ , I have to be worthy of that. So, I haven’t really stopped and just done anything like this ever.” 

“Get lost in the woods and have sex with the first man you see?” Grant teased. 

“I mean, yes, that’s true, I’ve certainly never done this. But I don’t do anything _like_ this, either. I don’t meet new people. I don’t have sex. I just study, and work, and try so goddamn hard, and I’m still just average, and _this_ is the happiest I’ve been in six years.” 

Grant pushed a wayward curl from her face, but didn’t speak. 

“It seems dumb when you say it out loud like that, I guess. But you can’t change the past, and how you feel. I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. We barely know each other, and you didn’t ask.” 

She rested her cheek against his chest with a sigh. His fingers traced the dip of her spine from the small of her back up to the baby hairs at the nape of her neck, and then back down, tracking slowly but evenly, lulling. 

“You’re not average,” he said sometime later. 

“What?” 

“You said that you study, and work, and try, but you’re still average. You’re not average, Bitty. There’s a lot of people in the world, but you’re nowhere near _average_. You’re not like anyone I’ve met. I don’t know who’s told you that, and you’re right, we barely know each other, but I know that already. You’re smart, and talented, and – did you say that you don’t have sex?” 

“Not often.” 

“When was the last time?” 

“Uhm,” she said. “I mean, I don’t know. I think about a year ago? Two? It wasn’t memorable, clearly.” 

“You’re remarkable at it for being out of practice,” he said. 

“I could say the same about you.” 

“Thanks,” he laughed. “I get what you mean, though, about being happy here. I didn’t exactly have what people would consider a happy childhood, and I’ve done some things that, well, it’s not that I’m proud of them, but I wouldn’t take them back if I had to go back and do it again, you know? I’m not your typical good guy.” 

“Are you trying to be?” 

“What?” 

“A good guy?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then, that’s all that matters. Keep trying. Keep doing it. That’s all you can expect out of yourself, and fuck anyone who says otherwise.” 

He brushed his lips over her forehead, barely there, fleeting. 

She wasn’t sure where Grant fit into the SHIELD story, what his fate would be, where he was at the fall of SHIELD, especially as he wasn’t one of the agents that his parents, his aunts and uncles mentioned when they were a little too drunk at holidays but she didn’t want to know right then. All she wanted was to enjoy the stars, head resting on his chest as it rose and fell, steady and alive. 

* * *

In the morning, she was freezing and stiff, and Grant laughed at the way her hair stuck up at weird angles, and that soft, happy glow hadn’t left her yet. They dressed, and Grant pulled her to him when a shiver ran through her to warm her up. 

“You alright?” he asked. 

“Yeah, colder being naked in the middle of the woods than I thought it was going to be.” 

“I can warm you up,” he muttered, kissing her. “If you’re so inclined.” 

“You said we need to get going if we want to get to town, especially with my ankle,” she said, buttoning her jeans even as Grant pulled her close by her hips. “So, unless you can fuck me and carry me at the same time.” 

“That sounds like a challenge.” 

“It might be, but maybe not on a mountain.” 

“We’re barely on a mountain, I won’t drop you.” 

“I also think that is illegal,” she said, gently pushing him away. 

“Technically, so was what I did to you last night. It’s all public indecency, you know.” 

“Yes, but one is decidedly more likely to get us caught and arrested.” 

“Alright,” he conceded. “You’re right. Let me know if you change your mind, of course.” 

“You’ll be the first to know.” 

Grant kissed her, and set to work breaking down their camp. She knelt beside their bedding and worked on rolling it back up, and saw her time device on the ground under Grant’s bag where she’d discarded it the night before while Grant was out gathering. She did not want to put it back on. 

“Hey, could I put something in the bag?” 

Grant looked up, eyebrows furrowed. 

“What were you carrying?” 

“This stupid thing,” she said, gesturing to the device. And then, she told him her first lie. “It’s a medical thing that I keep on me, but I don’t need it attached to me if there’s a bag that could carry it. It’s uncomfortable.” 

“You’re not going to die if it’s not on your person, right?” 

“No, it’s just in case of emergency.” 

“Okay, is it heavy?” 

“No.” 

“Drop it in there, then.” 

“You’re wonderful,” she said dreamily, and tucked the device into the bag to recharge and just not be attached to her for a day. 

Grant let her lean on him while they walked, which took longer than if she could walk on her own but less time than if he were carrying her, not that she minded herself as it meant she was pressed into the length of Grant’s body. 

“Okay, what’s - is that a fucking waterfall?” 

“We’re not going to the waterfall,” Grant said. “Come on.” 

“You’re a killjoy.” 

“You’re supposed to be going home.” 

“We can make a detour. My parents won’t even know.” 

“Bitty, the water would be freezing.” 

She sighed, but relented. 

“Alright, anyway, before I got distracted, I was going to ask what your birthday is.” 

“January 7th,” he said. 

“Winter baby,” she said. 

“You?” 

“July 5th.” 

“Summer baby,” he echoed. 

“And how old are you now?” 

“I’m twenty-two, you?” 

“Just turned twenty-one.” 

“For some reason, you just seem younger than that.” 

“I don’t know why,” she said. 

She could tell him that she always read as younger than she was, a baby face in a crowd, partly because she didn’t have the kind of experiences a lot of people her age had, long-term relationships, broken bones, scars she could talk about in public, fun party stories. Her parents, even while they were away, kept her close to the base, kept her from public view, kept her from living. She didn’t have any friends at River’s End except for Brennan, who was practically her brother having grown up with him, because she couldn’t tell them anything about her actual life or family. They had a fake house that held an entrance to the base in case of any suspicion. Brennan and Bitty couldn’t just be dropped off at the lake every day or flown to the Lighthouse from school. Although, Bitty was sure that everyone in River’s End knew that SHIELD was occupying their lake, but never said anything. There was only so many flights the Zephyr One or the Quinjets could take and land in the gaping hole in the lake before the citizens noticed, and that was passed far before she was ever born. The lake was not that big. 

She could tell him that, even in college, after she was away from her parents telling her what she could do and when she could leave, she buried herself in her studies and didn’t do anything fun. She made it four years at college without forming any really close attachments to anyone, which was sad, but made moving back to the Lighthouse bearable. She was back to being alone while the real SHIELD agents went off on their missions, waiting to be useful for translation services. 

“You’re different than anyone else, I think that’s why. I mean, I haven’t met anyone that’s grown up inside of SHIELD, so there’s a start.” 

“That’s true.” 

It was weird having him know. It was weird having anyone know. For so long, the only person she could talk to about it was Brennan, under threat of a painful social death if he ever told her parents. 

“What was it like? Growing up knowing about SHIELD, living inside of it?” 

“Didn’t really care for most of my life, honestly. I didn’t know other people, other kids didn’t grow up like me. It was just another day when my parents would leave on a mission and I’d be watched over by one of the other agents. It wasn’t until I went to school and had to keep it a secret that I realized it wasn’t normal, especially when I went to sleepovers and went to other kids’ houses. Because they had houses that they lived in, two story, white picket fence, tire swing, houses, _actual_ houses. They didn’t sleep in a bunk two doors away from the director of a secret organization, and didn’t have secret agent babysitters. When I went over to their houses, their parents didn’t stop in the middle of dinner to fight Hydra, you know? And then, when I knew, it was just so lonely. I couldn’t bring friends over for sleepovers or birthday parties because I didn’t have a house. So, people, other girls thought I was weird. I’d make excuses and lie about why they couldn’t come over, but they lost interest after a while and just said that they didn’t want to be friends with me anyway. It was lonely, isolating. I would have become a hermit with antisocial tendencies if it weren’t for Brennan growing up beside me.” 

“Your brother?” 

“Practically. He’s my aunt Daisy’s kid, so we grew up together.” 

“Is Daisy also an agent?” 

“Yeah, she’s an actual field agent from the start. She’s amazing.” 

Grant was smiling, a barely there thing. 

“Do you have any siblings, other than Brennan?” 

“No, I think Mum and Dad wanted a big family, but it was just too hard to balance me and their work that it never happened. You?” 

“Three, two brothers and a sister.” 

“Older or younger?” 

“One older, my brother, and the other two younger.” 

“A middle child,” she said thoughtfully. 

“Do I seem like a middle child?” 

“If I say yes, are you going to drop me?” 

“No, I won’t drop you,” he laughed. 

“Good, because yes, super strong middle child vibes.” 

“That’s good to know, I guess,” he said with a shake of his head. 

He didn’t seem upset so Bitty kept going. 

“What was it like growing up with actual siblings? I have dreadful only child syndrome.” 

She had a small family, just her and her parents, no blood aunts or uncles, both of her parents also only children just like her. She even was down a grandparent before she was even born, Alistair Fitz disappearing when her father was young, which was for the best. 

“Not great. At least not with my siblings, not in my family.” 

“Oh,” she said. 

“My parents were cruel, neglectful, abusive, all the good things you want out of your family. My older brother was manipulative, and made me do things I never wanted to do, like bully our younger brother. I –” 

Bitty gripped his hand. His words died in his throat and she could feel the way his eyes tracked over her. 

“It’s not your fault,” she stated. 

“I could’ve told him no, stood up for myself, for Thomas.” 

“You were a kid; you can’t expect that of yourself.” 

“Maybe.” 

“Your parents were supposed to protect you and take care of you. What happened to you, what you did, all of it falls on them.” 

“I don’t think that’s true, but thank you.” 

“You may have done something bad in your past, but your past doesn’t define who you are now, or who you can become. You are redeemable, no matter what happens. I want you to know that.” 

“I’ve been to prison, Bitty,” he said almost defensively, as if trying to prove her wrong, as if to shock her out of her position. 

“Are you in prison now?” 

“No.” 

“Are you trying to be good?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then, I don’t care. You’re a good man, Grant, and I’ll believe that even if you don’t. I can carry that for you, at least.” 

He was quiet and she let him be. She did believe it, even if Grant couldn’t or wouldn’t. Everything he’d done since they’d met was just supporting evidence. She didn’t base her personal judgement on rumors or hearsay, only on fact and patterns of behavior. So far, Grant hadn’t hurt her, abandoned her, or taken advantage of her. He’d been kind, and sweet, and exactly like some fairy tale prince, almost out of a dream. 

She’d wondered if this was some delusion, a dream, maybe her mind dealing with a catastrophic injury from her device malfunctioning. But Grant was too real, and the plot too linear for that. There wasn’t anyone walking naked through the forest from where she could not see the way they normally did in her dreams, speaking a mix of languages as if the language center of their brain was melting. 

No, she’d decided, staring at Grant’s profile, not a dream, and if it were, she wasn’t going to poke at its edges until it burst. No, even if this was a delusion, this was enough for her. 

* * *

They reached the road, but it still took a couple hours of walking to get to the nearest town. The first thing Grant did was take her to the pharmacy for a fresh bandage and a bottle of water, and then to the thrift store next door for a change of clothes. 

“You don’t have to do this,” she said at the diner, having changed in the bathroom and tied her hair up away from her face. 

“No, I don’t, but I want to.” 

He looked perfect, leaning back into the booth seat, light catching his dark hair. 

“Hello dearies,” an older waitress, about Bitty’s parents’ age, said, stepping up to their table, “on an adventure?” 

She nodded to Grant’s bag when they both looked confused. 

“Oh, yeah, we went hiking,” Bitty answered. 

“In those shoes?” 

“I told her not to, but –” he trailed off at Bitty’s narrowing eyes. 

“You told me it was barely a hill, and then took me to a mountain, babe.” 

“And you still did so good,” he praised her, grinning at her for playing along. “So, lunch is my treat.” 

“What can I get you, loves?” 

“I’m going to get a flapjack stack, with bananas, and a side of home fries, and a hot tea, please,” Bitty ordered. She barely glanced at the menu; every diner was the same. All she wanted truly was the cuppa, desperate for tea after the ordeal she’d been through. She tried not to be the stereotypical English and Scot she was, but she did enjoy a cuppa. 

“Denver omelet, black coffee, please,” Grant answered with a courteous smile. 

“Wonderful, I’ll get those in right away.” 

The waitress bustled away with their menus. 

“You play a good girlfriend.” 

“I make a pretty good girlfriend, too,” she offered. 

“I’m certain of that.” 

“So, what are you going to do once you get rid of me? Back into the woods? Live alone until its time to join the Academy?” 

Grant didn’t answer right away, fussing with the straw wrapped with a frown. 

“What?” 

“Nothing. It was just really nice to have you around. It’s going to be lonely without you.” 

She wanted to ask him not to let her leave, then, but held her tongue. It wasn’t fair to put that on him, to ask him to keep her safe and fed just so she didn’t have to go home yet. 

“Are you okay with buying me a cross country ticket? On top of buying me food and clothes, that’s too much, and I can never repay you.” 

“I’m not asking you to repay me.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Bits,” he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand, “I want to do this, for you. I’m going to take care of you as best as I can.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You don’t have to thank me.” 

“I’ll just thank you later, then,” she said, “the best I can.” 

He choked on the sip of water he was taking as she winked at him, and had to take a moment to cough his airway free. 

“You know, step one is definitely getting a dog,” she said conversationally, staring at the sidewalk outside where Buddy was lying next to a bowl of fresh water. He looked so content on the sun-warmed pavement, passersby giving him kind pats as they went. Bitty had made up a sign saying he was friendly and would love some pets while his humans ate lunch. 

“What?” Grant asked. 

“When I get home. I’m going to the shelter, and getting a dog.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, Buddy is so good, and you know I’ve always wanted a dog.” 

“Maybe step one is checking in with your parents so they don’t send a team after me.” 

She laughed and kissed his hand. 

“That’s half a step. Don’t worry so much.” 

“Trained SHIELD agents as parents of the girl I’m sleeping with, sure, don’t worry so much.” 

“They’re scientists, to be fair, barely agents.” 

“You’re not making this better.” 

She shrugged and took a drink of her water, guiding the straw between her lips with the tip of her tongue, staring down at Grant without flinching. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” she offered. “They never need to know what happened in the woods.” 

Grant groaned and leaned back, his hand slipping away from hers. 

He’d never be anywhere near her parents; it was easy to keep them apart. It was possible that he’d meet them later. She wondered what Grant would think when that happened, when he came across Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons, her face found in the average of theirs, the average of their names her own. Would he figure it out? Would, somewhere down the line, when he realized who she was, he come find her? 

She was interested in what Late Fifties Grant looked like, how his face matured, if his eyes grew colder or warmer. Of course, she’d probably still fuck him. She’d definitely fuck him, staring over the table at him now, imagined his black hair salt and pepper as she threaded her fingers through it. 

“Stop staring at me,” Grant said, blushing for the first time. 

“I can’t help it,” she said, leaning towards him, “you’re absolutely gorgeous.” 

“Stop.” 

He rubbed his hand nervously over his jaw. 

“Are you not used to someone _complimenting_ you? How is that possible? Look at you. Surely, women and men throw themselves at you at every opportunity.” 

“I live in the woods. I have lived in the woods with my dog for five years.” 

“So? I’m sure people would be drawn to you like a magnet. You’re just very attractive, Grant.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Beyond that, once you get past the stunning exterior, which is certainly something, like, I’m getting distracted just looking at your lips, and how I want to kiss you right now, the light is so good for your complexion right here, but anyway, I got distracted. Beneath that, you’re good, and talented, and thoughtful.” 

Grant’s face was deliciously and delightfully pink, creeping up to the tips of his ears. 

“Here we are, a hot tea and a hot coffee, your meals are almost done,” the waitress, Joyce according to her nametag, said, setting two steaming mugs in front of them and then set a small pot of cream. And then she was gone. 

“Okay, please, be good,” Bitty asked, lifting her mug to her mouth to blow on it. The tea bag was bobbing sadly in the liquid, and didn’t have quite the same scent. She sipped it carefully. “God, American tea is the fucking worst.” 

She reached for the sugar and cream to drown out the off-flavor of the tea. 

“You’re from America.” 

“Yeah, but my parents are not. I’ve drank tea since I was four. We actually have it ordered specifically from London and sent to us, because this,” she said, gesturing with the mug, “is not good.” 

“Can I try?” 

She pushed it toward him. 

“Go for it.” 

He took his own tentative sip and made a face, before setting it back down. 

“Oh, yikes. Not for me.” 

“I’m going to drink it, because this is America and this is as good as it gets, but I’m not going to be happy for it.” 

“You don’t have to drink it.” 

“No, I’m gonna.” 

“Okay,” Grant said with a laugh, just as Joyce came back with their plates. 

“Here you go,” she said. “Is there anything you need?” 

“No, thank you,” Bitty said. 

“Thank you, Joyce,” Grant said softly. “Can you also put in an order for any bacon or burnt bits from the grill? For our dog outside.” 

She leaned over the table to see where Grant gestured to Buddy. 

“Oh! He’s gorgeous! Of course!” 

And then, she was gone back to the kitchen. 

They ate in relative silence, Grant his omelet and Bitty her stack of banana pancakes. Joyce brought them a to go box with half an order of burnt home fries and crispy, overcooked bacon. 

“Hey, can you tell me where the closest bus station is?” Grant asked Joyce as she dropped off their check. 

“Oh, there’s not really one here. Not unless you’re traveling locally. Depends on where you’re trying to go.” 

“New York,” Bitty answered. 

“Oh, well! You’re better getting a flight to New York!” 

“I don’t like to fly,” she said, which was true. Planes, even her dad’s perfectly designed and maintained Zephyr One, left her nauseated for days. 

“There’s a large bus station in Denver that might be able to get you there,” she said. “It would be cheaper for sure, at the very least.” 

“Thank you, that’s helpful,” Grant said, an awkward smile gracing his face. 

He wasn’t good at faking sincerity, Bitty noted, which was strange after so much realness on his face. She wondered if the Academy would train that, in plastering a fake smile on your face and pretending you cared when you didn’t, faking an interest. If Grant planned on going undercover, he was going to have to learn how to fake it. 

“Anytime, love.” 

* * *

Grant led her into a parking lot and to a pick up truck, a bag hanging from the driver’s side window, an old tradition to mean that the car was broken down. 

“What are we doing?” Bitty asked, looking around at the nearly empty lot. 

“I’m not going to just drop you off at the bus station and hope for the best. I’m going to drive you home.” 

“Are you stealing this truck?” 

Grant fished a set of keys out of his bag, shaking them at her playfully. 

“Buddy, up and over,” he said, gesturing towards the bed of the truck. “Technically, it’s Garrett’s truck, but he told me where to find it in case of emergency.” 

“So, we’re not stealing it.” 

“No, we’re not stealing it.” 

“I’m not an emergency though.” 

“He doesn’t need to know what the emergency was,” he said, drawing her close by the hips and kissing her. “Don’t worry so much.” 

“That’s my line.” 

“I borrowed it.” 

“So, you’re really going to drive me across the country?” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” she said honestly. “I know we just met and barely know each other, but you make me happy, and I don’t want to let you go. I know that’s needy and possessive, and selfish, but I don’t. So, yes, I want you to drive me across country.” 

“Good, I feel the same.” 

“Then, a road trip it is,” she said, curling her fingers around the edges of his jacket. “Never been on a road trip before.” 

“Good. Let’s get on the road, then.” 

The truck wasn’t particularly comfortable, but with Buddy and their belongings in the back, she could stretch out across the bar seat, injured ankle raised up on Grant’s thigh. 

“Hey, what’s your last name?” she asked, tucking her toes underneath his leg and wiggling them just to be annoying. 

“Ward.” 

“Hmmm,” she said. Her parents hadn’t ever mentioned a Grant Ward, but just because they were all agents, didn’t mean they’d have met. There were a lot of moving parts to the organization back then. 

“And yours was Fitzsimmons?” 

There was a difference in how people said her name when they knew it was hyphenated, just enough of a pause to indicate the separation. 

“Hyphenated, but yes.” 

“Where?” 

“What?” 

“Where is it hyphenated?” 

“Oh, Fitz hyphen Simmons. My dad, Fitz, and my mum, Simmons worked together so often they were referred to as singular, Fitzsimmons, and when they got married, they made it official.” 

“Interesting. I like that it’s a partnership even in name rather than your mom giving up her heritage for the marriage.” 

“There’s not a lot of either side of my family, so it’s nice to carry them all with me like that.” 

“I wish I had that kind of connection with my family,” Grant said honestly, gripping the wheel awkwardly and then shifting his grip. “I was always jealous of kids who weren’t absolutely terrified of their parents, the ones that wore jerseys with their last names, who went by their last name by choice. It seemed so unreal to me, a fantasy I could never have.” 

“Would you change your name, if you could?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t mind Ward as a last name. My problem is that my family also have it as theirs, and it’s a connection to them. If I could sever that connection, I wouldn’t mind as much.” 

“Well,” she said, wiggling her toes again. Brennan always hated when she did that. “You can always have my last name.” 

“I’ll think about it,” he said, hand coming to her foot on his thigh, his thumb tracing the bones of her ankle gently. “Do you have a middle name?” 

“Oh, yeah. Melinda.” 

“Elizabeth Melinda Fitz-Simmons.” 

She could hear the hyphen, then, and smiled. 

“That’s me. And you are?” 

“Grant Douglas Ward,” he replied. 

“Our middle names are like one of those unhappily married couples from sitcoms where the wife does everything and gets seen as nagging, and the husband is supposed to be lovable but he’s really just useless, and it just makes you cringe a little too hard to laugh along.” 

“Melinda and Douglas,” he said, and then nodded his agreement. “Luckily, Bitty and Grant by contrast sound like hippie parents who are okay with letting you smoke pot in the house because at least they know you’re doing it safely.” 

She laughed, tipping her head back against the glass. 

“What are your parents like, you know, when they are around?” 

“Oh, they’re brilliant,” she said. “My mum is so compassionate, and understanding. She used to sit me on the table in the lab where they would work, and teach me parts of the body, and would draw musculature and veins on my arms and legs to help me visualize it. I think she hoped I would become a doctor like her. I used to think I was a lot like her, but I’m not. I wish I were more thoughtful, more kind, the way she is. She’s so effortless in everything she does, and she’s gorgeous, inside and out. She’d make me a cup of tea at the first sign of anything bad, if I was being whiney or seemed like I needed a pick-me-up, and she’d ask me to tell her all about my day. And she wouldn’t let me go to bed sad. She’d sit up with me, and tell me about her and Dad’s adventures, and everything they’d done to stay together, to make it back to each other, to fall in love and – she is so good. Everyone should strive to be like her.” 

He smiled at that, but didn’t comment to allow her to continue. 

“My dad, though,” she said, and she didn’t know where to begin. “My dad is a superhero, even if he doesn’t have any powers. When I was little, I used to get terrible, I can’t call them nightmares because I don’t really dream, but daydreams, daymares, if you will, about monsters coming and killing my parents and the rest of the team. I was so afraid that they’d never come home. My dad, in the middle of night if I couldn’t sleep or even in the middle of the day every time, would bundle me up in his arms, and he would listen to my fears. He said Mum was taught to repress everything and put it all away in a little box where it couldn’t hurt her, and it hadn’t been good for her. A very English thing to do, he said. So, he told me to let everything out. He’d let me talk myself down, and then talk myself to sleep, and in the morning, he’d make me breakfast and ask me how I felt. If I was better, he’d make me breakfast and watch cartoons with me until school. If I wasn’t, he’d take me into the lab and let me help him break something down. And if _that_ didn’t help, he’d call me in sick to school, and we’d just work in quiet on whatever his latest project was. He was good to me, even when he was impatient or angry. I want to be like my mum, kind and compassionate, but I’m more like him, trying to be good despite our initial reactions.” 

Grant was quiet, thumb stroking in circles over her ankle methodically. It felt good, his skin on hers. 

“You’re not going to be in trouble because of this, are you?” 

“God, I hope not. It’s not my fault,” she scoffed, even though it was very much all of her fault that she was there. “I’m not afraid of them. I will absolutely not stand for them yelling at me over this.” 

She would absolutely let them yell at her; she deserved it. 

“You and I grew up very differently,” Grant remarked. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Some other time, maybe,” he said. 

“Okay, some other time, then.” 

Bitty rested back against the door, staring up out of the windshield at the late afternoon sky, still summer bright. A plump of geese flew in formation opposite of their car, and Bitty watched them as far as she could until they disappeared from view. Colorado was so flat, she thought, staring out over a plain of land that didn’t end in hills for once. One side of the truck gave way to this endless plain, the other the Rocky Mountain range rose up sharply in contrast. It blew her mind that something could be so flat, no hills at all until there was a mountain, as if the range had greedily taken up the elevation from the rest of the state. 

She’d grown up Lake Ontario, one of the great lakes, a lake so large you couldn’t see the other shore, the edge simply dropping off with the horizon, curving with the very Earth itself. But earth and water were different beasts. This was unfathomable to her. 

“How do you know where to go?” she asked. 

“I don’t. I’m just heading east right now. I’ll worry about where we’re going when we’re on the east coast.” 

She wiggled her toes again, and his thumb stroked up and down, and she didn’t care if she ever made it home, as long as Grant was there beside her. 

* * *

They made it halfway through Nebraska, a dull flat state that Bitty could not even believe existed, that day before Grant pulled off the highway to find a motel. The motels of that era were somehow exactly like the ones from Bitty’s time, and completely different at the same time, and she wasn’t sure how that was. For one, they were handed an actual key to their room, and there was no WiFi password for guests, as there was no WiFi to begin with. But the motel still looked the same, a single stiff bed in the center of the room, a TV stand doubling as a set of drawers, a table with two chairs and a bathroom which had terrible lighting and overhead fan that sounded like a rocket taking off. 

The clerk let them bring Buddy into the room for a pet deposit, and didn’t look at them funny when Bitty limped by, holding onto Grant like a crutch. 

“Home sweet home,” Grant said, tossing the bag onto the bed and falling beside it. Bitty’s first desire was a shower, having not had one for three days, two of which were spent climbing through a forest, but she fell beside Grant onto the queen-sized bed. It groaned with their weight. “What do you want for dinner? There’s Chinese, pizza, or –” 

There was a pause as he looked at the stack of menus that deliver to the motel. 

“Burgers, I think, that’s what Papa’s Explosion sells? That can’t be right.” 

“Pizza works,” she answered distractedly, pulling her hair free of the tie. 

“Pepperoni okay?” 

She pulled her hands through her hair, tugging at the knotted ends without much gentle care. 

“Yeah,” she answered, letting her flats fall off her feet and to the rough motel carpet. “I’m going to shower if you want to join, though. If you want to clean yourself up –” 

“Are you saying I’m dirty?” he asked with a laugh. 

“No,” she said, grinning. “But you certainly could be cleaner if you want some help with that.” 

“Are you sure you don’t have ulterior motives?” 

“Ulterior motives? What could you possibly mean?” 

He started to reply just as she pulled her shirt up and over her head, but the words stalled in his mouth. There hadn’t been a lot of gazing time the night before, the sun having gone done, just the fire for light and warmth. 

“Oh,” he said, eyes tracking over her. 

He stood and stepped over to her, his hands coming up to brush her bare shoulders. 

“I didn’t see how big this scar it,” he said quietly, one hand falling to her stomach where an old, large scar bisected her from the bottom of her sternum to just above her navel. “What happened?” 

Her first instinct was distraction, diversion, sliding her hands into his hair and drawing him in to kiss, pressing the length of her body against his like an anchor pulling at his attention, holding it in place where she wanted it. 

She hadn’t dodged his curiosity yet. While she had stepped around the truth, she hadn’t outright lied. 

“Part of having SHIELD agents as parents is always being a little bit in danger. You can be used as collateral by any villain and enemy at any time. There was a reason we didn’t have a house, why I slept in the base. They were protecting me. When I was 14, I decided I was going to walk home from school because I’d had a hard day, and I just wanted to be alone with no one asking me questions, no one touching me, no one being anywhere near me. Well, instead of getting a nice peaceful walk home, I got kidnapped. Some things went bad, and sideways, and plans didn’t work, and something exploded, blah blah blah, and I ended up getting impaled on a large pipe thing.” 

“Really?” 

“Yepp, and I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without SHIELD supervision for two years.” 

“You’re amazing,” he said softly. He traced the scar. “I expected a car accident or something.” 

“That’s what I tell everyone else, but you know who I am, so there’s no point lying about that. I got stabbed by Hydra.” 

Grant sucked in a breath. 

“Come with me,” she said, taking his hands. “I’ve got other scars you can see if you show me yours.” 

“That sounds like a deal.” 

She stepped backwards and took him with her, stopping to grab the bag of toiletries on her way through. They undressed each other, a line of clothes leading from the middle of the hotel to the side of the tub, until finally, they were under the spray of the shower. It was a surprisingly large shower for a motel, although the water pressure was just a bit too soft to be pleasing but it remained a steady temperature, somewhere between unpleasantly warm and entirely too fucking hot. It didn’t matter, though, what the shower was like, because Grant Ward was stunning from head to toe. He was long lines, and lean muscles, scarred but still perfect. She ran her fingers over him, the water slick against their skin. 

“Wow,” she breathed. “What’s this one?” 

She touched a scar just above his hip, tracing it the same way he had traced hers. 

“Appendicitis when I was 12,” he answered. 

Where, and when, she came from, surgeries were microscopic, some being able to go through the belly button, so no scar was left behind. Beyond that, they’d made advancements to scar treatments that made scars almost nonexistent. She’d had appendicitis herself when she was 12, but it had been non-invasive. The scar on her stomach could have been healed easily with at-home ointments and serums, but she’d elected to leave it, a badge of honor and a reminder. 

“And this one?” 

She touched another one on his stomach, this one on his side, vertical, about an inch long, just below his ribs. 

“Stabbed in juvie,” he answered. 

“And this?” 

This one was a small burn on the inside of Grant’s arm, right near his elbow where no one would see it except him. 

“A gift from my brother.” 

He touched a series of small scars on her shoulder and down her arm, the newest of her collection, only a year old. 

“What are these?” he asked, giving each individual scar its own due diligence. 

“A Hydra spy threw me through a window.” 

“How are you alive?” 

“I’m Scottish,” she said with a shrug. “Notoriously stubborn, too stubborn to die.” 

He kissed her, soft. 

“Good. Keep it that way.” 

She washed her hair first, letting the water rinse out the forest and the air-conditioning, Grant sliding his hands greedily through her wet curls, combing the conditioner into it as she requested. He was good with his hands, careful, methodical in how he moved, never pulling or tugging too hard. 

“Oh,” he said softly. “It goes through the other side.” 

He touched the scar running parallel with her spine. She’d been lucky that the bar hadn’t gone through her spine as well. According to her mum, it had been an inch from leaving her paralyzed. 

“Yeah.” 

“You survived that,” he said, and there was a hint of awe in his voice. “How did you survive that?” 

“My mum is a brilliant doctor,” she answered, “and like I said, I’m too stubborn to die. There’s no way some Hydra fuck is going to be the death of me, no way. They’re going to have to try harder than that to kill Elizabeth Fitz-Simmons.” 

Grant laughed and leaned into her back to kiss her neck. 

“Good, keep that mentality.” 

She grinned and tipped her head back, letting him kiss her upside down. 

“I’m going to die old and surrounded by all of my grandkids,” she decided. “I’m going to be so old that everyone is amazed at the feat I have managed just by living so long.” 

Grant nipped her earlobe, and whispered, “Sounds good to me.” 

“You going to be there with me?” 

“If you want me to be,” he said. “I’ll stay as long as you want me, Bitty.” 

“That’s going to be a long time, Grant. Are you sure that you want that?” 

“Yes,” he said it firmly. “As long as you want.” 

It was a fantasy, one that would end in River’s End, one that Bitty wanted to play out to its conclusion but knew that she couldn’t. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong with Grant. If she kept him from his timeline, she could change the future. Who knew what Grant Ward got up to in his life, maybe he was integral to SHIELD’s future, maybe something he did changed the world. She had to go back home and never see Grant Ward again, and he had to go back to living his life, joining SHIELD, working with _John Garrett_ , and she had to let the pieces fall where they needed to. If Grant Ward was going to be manipulated by John Garrett, she had to let him. 

Even though, and God, it sucked to admit this to herself, she was pretty sure she could fall in love with Grant Ward if she let herself. 

* * *

“If you’d been given a better life, or opportunities, where would you be now? What would Grant Ward be up to if his parents weren’t fucking terrible?” 

She asked it while they lay in bed, wearing just their towels wrapped around them. 

“I don’t know; for so long all I wanted was to get away from them. I never dreamed of being anything, or doing anything. I just wanted to be free of them.” 

She’d never felt like that, always starving for more time with her parents, begging them to take her with them or sit this mission out. There was a hole in her chest where she ached for their presence, always waiting and hoping. 

“Okay, imagine you can be anything, do anything, go anywhere. There would be no obstacles, nothing holding you back. Who are you then?” 

There was a moment of quiet between them, Bitty tracing a scar on Grant’s chest she hadn’t asked about yet. It was jagged and rough, probably sewn up by an amateur, maybe by Grant himself. 

“Firefighter,” Grant finally answered. “Which is ironic, and too on the nose, but if my past wasn’t my past, I’d be a firefighter.” 

“You could be a firefighter now,” she said. 

“Garrett would never let me. He wants me on this path, joining him, joining SHIELD.” 

The words come from Bitty before she could stop them, her mouth running despite her best attempts to rein it in. 

“You don’t have to do what he says. You can’t owe him that much of a debt that you owe him _the rest of your life_.” 

Grant shook his head, and said, “you don’t understand.” 

Maybe she didn’t understand, and maybe she never would. They came from such different places and times, she didn’t know how she could understand. Grant had wanted so long to be free but fell from one prison to another without noticing, stumbling into shackles that had been painted to look like bracelets, appearing harmless. 

“Well,” she said, letting the subject drop, “I think you’d make a really good fireman.” 

“Thank you.” 

Despite fighting it, her eyelids drooped closed and she settled in on top of the covers to sleep. They hadn’t ordered dinner, falling into the bed side by side, Bitty’s hair still soaking wet into the pillow case. 

“I’m going to order dinner,” Grant said, kissing her shoulder as he leaned over her for the phone. “Pizza still okay?” 

She nodded. 

“I’ll wake you when it gets here.” 

* * *

Bitty didn’t often dream, not anything noteworthy, sometimes she’d dream about class or Hydra’s shadow coming across her once again. 

She never dreamed so vividly of another person. 

She’s lying on her back in the sunshine, the sunshine warming her skin, arms behind her head, the sound of Lake Ontario lapping at the shore. She feels a kiss on her navel, and when she opens her eyes, Grant is there, smiling at her. 

“Hi,” he says, kissing her scar, and then between her breasts, the hollow of her throat, and then finally, he kisses her lips. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Certainly,” she says, moving her hands to his hair for a moment, sliding her fingers through his cool, silky strands. He looks perfect in the summer sunshine. “What brings you to my time, Grant Ward?” 

“Promised I’d stay around as long as you wanted me.” 

“Good,” she says in return. “I don’t want you to go yet.” 

Their kisses are soft, unhurried, the world’s time ahead of them. 

Hands reach out from the sunshine, shadows against the bright blue endless sky, grabbing at Grant and yanking him from her. 

“No!” she shouts, reaching for him. 

A chuckle sounds from everywhere, deep and throaty, sending shivers down Bitty’s spine. She leaps to her feet, and jumps to grab Grant back from the hands. She catches on the front of his shirt, and he holds onto her hands. 

“Please,” she says. “Don’t let go, Grant. Please.” 

“I won’t, Bitty.” 

His shirt slips from her grasp, and she’s trying so hard to hold onto him. The shadow grips him tighter, pulling him farther away. 

“Please.” 

“Let go,” the chuckling says. “You’re going to lose him anyway, Bitty. He’s going to slip away into the past where you cannot reach him, where you cannot grow old with him, where he will love someone else.” 

“That doesn’t mean I need to let go of him _now_ ,” she says. “Give him back!” 

“Let go,” the chuckling repeats. “He doesn’t belong to you.” 

“He doesn’t belong to _you_ either,” she hisses. “Grant, please, hold on.” 

She can’t breathe, she’s starting to lift off the ground, she’s scared, and she won’t let go no matter what. And then, his shirt tears, and he’s slipping away, and. 

* * *

She woke with a start, Grant’s hand just inches from her shoulder. 

“Pizza’s here,” he said gently. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, just a dream. A kiss will solve everything.” 

“No problem,” he said, and kissed her recklessly. 

“Also, pizza,” she said as he pulled away. 

“Pizza,” he agreed, pulling the pizza box over to them. They ate greedily, in silence, having only stopped once for meager gas station snacks. “Not great pizza, but I’ll take it.” 

“I imagine this is as good as pizza as you’re going to get in Nebraska.” 

“Wow, really hating on Nebraska here.” 

“What has Nebraska ever given to me?” 

“Mediocre pizza, and amazing shower sex?” 

“Point to Grant.” 

“Thank you, very gracious of you, miss.” 

She nodded, and took another bite of pizza. 

“To be honest, we didn’t have a lot of pizza when I was growing up,” she said, sitting her pizza on the box. “Mum and Dad always cooked me dinner when they were home and we had good family time together, and I wasn’t allowed to have pizza while they were away strictly because someone let me have pizza for two weeks straight because I cried if they tried to give me anything else. It wasn’t until college that I had pizza, real pizza again.” 

“We mostly had pizza growing up,” Grant answered. “Mom didn’t want to cook, and Dad was plastered half of the time.” 

“We are a fucked up pair,” Bitty said, sitting back. “Maybe that’s why I like you so much.” 

“What? My brand of broken matches up with your brand of broken?” 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

* * *

The next day, they made it out of Nebraska and into Iowa. 

Iowa looked exactly like Nebraska. 

“Okay, first kiss,” she said an hour into Iowa, “go.” 

“Brenna Peters,” he answered, “fourth grade, by the swing set, on a dare.” 

“She was dared, or you were?” 

“Both.” 

“Ahh.” 

“Yours?” 

“Dylan Johnson, sixth grade, at our first boy-girl party, when Bina Thomas’ parents weren’t looking.” 

“Naughty,” he said with a laugh. “First time you had sex?” 

“Terrible,” she answered, opening the box of donuts they’d bought on the way out of Nebraska, and splitting one in half. “It was with Michael Victor, he took me to junior prom, and afterwards, we did it in the guest house above his garage on a lumpy futon. My parents thought I was at After Prom, and After Prom thought I'd gone home. It was disappointing, and over very quickly, but he was nice at least. Yours?” 

“Katie Simon, when I was 16, a month before I got sent away to the military academy. It wasn’t great, if I’m honest, but I didn’t care, I just didn’t want to go away without doing _something_ with someone.” 

“Wanted to feel close to someone?” 

“Something like that.” 

“I get it,” she said, “kind of why I went off with Michael Victor of all people. Sometimes, it gets so lonely in that big, empty bunker that I want to go to the most crowded place and lose myself in people’s touch and presence. That isolation makes me want to scream sometimes.” 

Grant reached and put his hand on her ankle where she had it propped on his leg again. 

“Well, if you ever need a ride, or a hook-up, just give me a call, I’ll come running.” 

She smiled, and wiggled her toes under his leg just as she had the day before. 

“Well, hopefully you don’t come before you get to me,” she said lightly, and Grant laughed, open and big and free, and it was the lightest she’d seen his face look in their two days together. 

“You know I’m good for more than one round anyway,” Grant replied, grinning. 

“Alright, alright, don’t give yourself too much of a pat on the back, Mr. Ward,” she said. “I did most of the work last night after the shower.” 

“And it was beautiful work.” 

She rolled her eyes at him. 

“Okay, my turn. We’ve talked a lot about our pasts, but what about your future, Grant? What do you hope your future looks like? What do you want from SHIELD?” 

“I don’t know. I want to feel a part of something, I guess. I wouldn’t have known about SHIELD without Garrett, or even cared, but he said that he could train me to be what they needed, and I could be something _good,_ something better than I was. I don’t know what that looks like, I don’t know what my path could be at SHIELD, but I want – god, this is going to sound so stupid and sappy.” 

“What is it?” 

“I just want to be happy for once.” 

He shook his head, and let out a dry, ironic chuckle. 

“That’s not stupid.” 

Her own words are small, her voice breaking. 

“It is. It’s asking too much.” 

“I don’t think so,” she said, a little stronger. “You do deserve to be happy. You know that, right? It doesn’t matter what you did in the past, or where you come from.” 

“I was a terrible person, scared and angry, and I’ve done things that you – Bitty, you wouldn’t like me if you knew them.” 

“I get to decide that. Tell me.” 

He shook his head and she unbuckled herself to slide over the bar seat to him. She gripped his arm and rested her chin on his shoulder. 

“Grant,” she muttered. “I know we barely know each other. I know that you don’t have to trust me. But I like you, and I think you like me too. I’ll tell you a secret if you tell me yours. Scar for scar, all that. You just have to trust me.” 

He glanced at her, the highway empty enough that he kept his eyes on her for a moment. 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to scare you in the middle of literal nowhere.” 

He gestured around to the fields on either side of the highway. 

“You can’t scare me,” she said. “I’ve seen your soft underbelly, baby.” 

His grip loosened on the wheel, and she watched as his knuckles filled with color. 

“I made a mistake,” he started. There was a long pause, as if he were waiting for her to interrupt him, but she kept quiet, and let him work through this himself. “I shouldn’t have been so rash, but I was just so angry. After years of abuse, and manipulation, and being constantly afraid for myself and Thomas, after everything that I’d endured, they sent me away. They decided I was too much trouble, and sent me to a military academy a thousand miles away from them. I hated it there, and every day, I just watched and planned, and one day, I left, I stole a car, drove the thousand miles home, and I -” 

He shook his head again, and she squeezed his arm. 

“Just another scar, Grant. It’s okay.” 

“I set the house on fire.” 

A part of Bitty seized up, somewhere deep in her gut told her to jump out of the truck, but there was a look of quiet shame in Grant’s eyes when he looked at her. 

“My brother was inside, Christian.” 

“Your older brother?” 

“Yeah, he survived.” 

He didn’t say it out loud, but she heard the _unfortunately_ trailing his sentence. 

“He had me arrested, and because of him, I was going to be tried as an adult for the maximum sentence. I would’ve lived out my life in jail, if it weren’t for Garrett coming to recruit me.” 

Bitty rested her cheek on the curve of his shoulder, staring out the windshield at the endless flat of the world. 

“Problem is, I’d do it again if it meant getting rid of Christian for good.” 

What should have been fear or panic blooming in her chest felt instead like relief. She kissed his arm where she could reach. 

“I’m not afraid of you, you know. Even if Christian had been hurt or worse in the fire, I’m not afraid of you.” 

“You should be,” he replied. 

“Except that you came across a girl lost and alone in the woods, and you didn’t try to hurt her or take advantage of her. Instead, you cooked her dinner, and you practically carried her out of the woods, and now you’re paying for her and driving her across the country without asking or expecting everything from her. You think you’re a bad guy, someone I should shy away from, or run away from. But you’re not. Everything you’ve done since we met is to the contrary of who you think you are. You see this dark, hopeless man who I shouldn’t trust, who I should be afraid of, but you haven’t done anything to me that says that. You’re kind and funny and, yes, your people skills are a little rusty from being in the woods for years, but you’re a good man now, no matter who you were then.” 

“How are you okay with this?” 

She shrugged. 

“Everyone deserves a second chance, and hopefully, SHIELD is yours, and can show you what I already see.” 

“You’re too good for me,” he decided, lifting his arm and inviting her underneath it, snuggled into his side. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” she said. “I promised you a secret in return.” 

“You did,” he said, turning his head just enough to kiss her forehead without looking away from the road. 

“So, my dad, as I’ve said, is brilliant, extremely clever, and a talented engineer and inventor. He’s always building something, and then moving on to the next thing, moving and creating. When I was 17, not long enough ago yet not to be embarrassing, he built this machine, and I was so intrigued by it that I took it from his lab one night.” 

She paused, but Grant didn’t interrupt. 

“It was a weapon that he’d been designing to incapacitate an opponent without being lethal, a strong toxin that rendered the victim unconscious, that SHIELD agents would be inoculated against. I didn’t really care about that; a chemical is a chemical, it’s just a kinder mustard gas, or a less friendly laughing gas. I loved the delivery system, all of the little parts working together, I was obsessed. What I didn’t realize was that my father’s design had a flaw that he hadn’t discovered yet, hadn’t tested it. It was essentially leaking this noxious gas slowly, filling my room, and poisoning me very, very slowly.” 

He took a sharp breath in. 

“Yeah, didn’t realize it until I woke up in the med bay after being in a coma for three days,” she said. “When I woke up, Dad gave me this long lecture about stealing and being unsafe with untested equipment, and Mum kept checking my vitals and wiping away tears she thought I couldn’t see.” 

Grant let out a small whistle. 

“And you never did it again?” he asked hopefully. 

“I wish I could say that,” she said, “but that device in my bag? Technically my dad’s design that I copied.” 

“You’re a dangerous device junkie.” 

“Listen,” she said, and he laughed. 

“Could your amnesia have anything to do with your device?” 

“Definitely could,” she said, looking over her shoulder to Grant’s bag beside Buddy where the time device was stashed. “Don’t know what I made, honestly.” 

“Not a medical emergency device, then.” 

“Not in theory.” 

“Ahh.” 

“Sorry for, I guess, lying to you about it. It’s hard to explain, and I’m not proud of it, of what I’ve done.” 

“Your offense is much less severe than mine so as long as you’ll forgive me for not telling you I’m an arsonist,” he said. 

“I will, I do.” 

“I’m not afraid of your scars, Bitty.” 

“And I’m not afraid of yours.” 

She didn’t move from where she’d tucked herself, watching the world flash by in the front seat of this truck that she wasn’t convinced wasn’t stolen, Grant warming her against the blast of the air conditioning. 

* * *

Bitty picked up a teen magazine with a dreamy teen star that she didn’t recognize and a harlequin romance paperback at the next gas station. 

“What is _that_?” Grant asked as she set it down beside his cup of coffee and gas station pizza they were having for lunch. 

“Entertainment,” she answered like it was obvious. “We’re running out of things to talk about, so –” 

“So, you’re going to read me articles from Teen Vogue on how to get great skin, and what I should learn about sex from school?” 

“Teen Vogue has very good articles, thank you very much, and their quizzes are historically better than Seventeen’s or J-14’s.” 

He didn’t roll his eyes at her, but she could absolutely see the urge playing out in his eyes. 

“You’re ridiculous,” he answered, but he paid for her items anyway without complaint. 

“Yeah,” she agreed, “I’ve been told.” 

“You’ve got this weird magic, magnetic charm to you, though,” he said, heading for the car, sipping his coffee and carrying the pizza box with his free hand. 

“It’s the accent.” 

“That’s not all it is,” he said, stopping to drop the pizza box in his seat with his coffee, and then coming around to her side to gas up the truck. He brushed his body very obviously and very purposefully against hers as he passed. “The accent is good, and intrigued me when we first met, but that’s not what kept me around.” 

“What kept you around, then?” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but his mouth snapped shut just as a Subaru rattled in to the pump across from them and six children impossibly spilled out. His eyes tracked them with wary distain that Bitty couldn’t look away from. The kids, upon seeing Buddy standing in the truck bed, swarmed around the truck to coo at him and ask Grant questions. 

Bitty watched them, watched his expression shutter, his eyes go hard and unfriendly in their presence. There was something familiar about it, about the way his knuckles went white, fingers wrapped around the gas pump’s handle, the dart of his eyes, tracking them, assessing. A soldier, she realized, staring at this man, who smiled at her dumb jokes and bared his heart to her bravely, a solider reacting to a threat unknown. 

She trusted him, that much she was sure of. There weren’t many people she’d hop in a truck with and drive across country with, let alone having only known them for a day. She didn’t think that Grant would hurt any of these kids. 

However, soldiers, released back into society, didn’t have a great record before the government started giving a shit about their veterans. Mental health wasn’t a concern in the 2000s, and going to therapy was seen as taboo. And Grant wasn’t a soldier, yet. He’d been treated like one, trained, isolated, set apart from everyone else like one. Even his parents had sent him away to a military academy. She doubted that John Garrett was sitting down to talk to him about how he felt and what he was thinking. She trusted him, but she hadn’t seen his reactions to overwhelming stimuli or other people yet. 

Bitty reached out and smoothed her hand over his shoulder and down his arm, watching the muscles relax beneath her touch. 

“Hey,” she said, swinging around Grant, trailing her fingers around his shoulders as she went, putting herself between him and the swarm of someone else’s unattended children. “I’m going to take Buddy over to the grass to stretch and do his business.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyes darting over her shoulder to the closest kid, a small girl no older than 6 years old with pigtails and bright green eyes hidden behind round glasses too big for her face. 

“Yeah, it’s been a while since he got out. It would be good for him.” 

“Okay.” 

He brushed up against her as she moved. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, and she knew he meant for more than just taking care of his dog. She grinned back at him as a reply, and turned to the kids. 

“Hi, do you guys want to pet Buddy?” 

She felt his eyes on her as she let down the tailgate and Buddy hopped down to the waiting mass of children. She felt his eyes on her as she brought the gaggle and the dog over to the grass just off the gas station’s pavement. The parents of the tiny hoard said nothing. She felt his eyes on her, and when she looked back over her shoulder, he was leaning against the truck, his expression open again, and he smiled at her, and she smiled back. 

* * *

“Okay, Grant Ward, prepare yourself,” she said after they were back on the highway, their pizza mostly finished and sitting in the footwell, her legs over the bar seat again with her feet resting comfortably on Grant’s thigh. It was natural to stretch out over the seat, slide her good foot under him and set the other on his leg. 

“What for?” 

“We’re going to see what kind of flirt you are.” 

He groaned, but didn’t protest further as she started. 

“Okay, first question,” she said, adjusting in her seat to be able to see the quiz better. “What is your ideal first date? A party or a coffee shop?” 

“Well, clearly, it was camping in the woods, wasn’t it,” he replied dryly. She kicked him and he sighed. “A coffee shop, I guess.” 

“What would make you feel most confident on a first date? A bold red lip or a spritz of your favorite perfume?” 

“These are ridiculous.” 

“Answer the question, Mr. Ward.” 

“My favorite perfume, I guess.” 

“Okay, noted. Next question, how would your friends describe you? Adventurous or thoughtful?” 

“Adventurous.” 

“How comfortable are you with flirting? Very, you could write love tips for Teen Vogue yourself, or not very, it makes you nervous?” 

“Not very,” he said. 

“Well, you’re very good at it regardless,” she commented. “What’s your go-to flirting move? You ask your crush out, why beat around the bush, or wait for a study sesh, a perfect time to get close to your crush?” 

“Just ask them out.” 

“In your worst nightmares, how does your flirting go wrong? Your crush doesn’t realize you’re interested, or you freeze up and don’t know what to say?” 

“Definitely not what my nightmares are about,” he said. 

“Play along.” 

“They don’t realize I’m interested, I guess.” 

“Last, how would you describe your crush? Are they popular, outgoing, and fun, or are they smart, sweet, and just a little bit nerdy?” 

“Smart, sweet, and a little nerdy,” he answered, glancing over at her. 

“Okay, so you answered mostly Bs, which means that you are,” she said, scanning over the bottom of the quiz, “a shy, sweet flirt. Hitting on your crush is kind of daunting, so you take a slightly more subtle approach: just being your awesome self and dropping tiny hints that you like them. Your natural personality shines through and that's all you need, but if your crush doesn't seem to be getting the message, work up the guts to ask them for a study date so you can get some more one-on-one time together.” 

“Wow, deep,” he said with an eyeroll. “What was your result?” 

“That’s for me to know.” 

He tickled the bottom of her foot without warning, causing her to jerk her legs up to her chest and shriek. 

“Come on, tell me, I bared my tween soul to you.” 

“ _Fine_ ,” she said. “I am a bold flirt. You're confident, outgoing, and instinctively know how to turn on the charm. You don't see anything wrong with just coming out and saying, "Hey, I like you." You know from experience that it works!” 

“Amazing,” he said. 

“Opposites attract.” 

She set her feet cautiously back on his legs, and flipped to the front of the magazine to the table of contents. 

“Okay, I’ll give you a quiz break, and we’re going to learn about,” she paused, “oh, this’ll be fun, about how to get to know his body!” 

He tipped his head back and let out a slow breath. 

“If you weren’t beautiful and smart and wholly attractive in every way and despite my training and better judgement, if I weren’t attached to you to a deep, kind of disturbing level, I would absolutely leave you on the side of the road right now in the middle of Iowa without a regret.” 

“Good thing for me that I am all of those things, and that you are attached to me, then, huh?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “Go ahead.” 

She grinned at him, and flipped to the page with the article. It was less of an article and more a list of quotes, but she would take it over the list of shoes she should be wearing in the fall, given that it was almost 40 years out of style. Men were the same, mysterious and distracting. 

It didn’t matter what the article was about, while she read the quotes, she watched Grant. It was her new favorite sport. He was so pretty, the angles of his face playing in the light, the curve of his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks, the plush of his lips, even the goddamn curve of his ear. 

“Hey,” she said, stopping halfway through the article, losing interest. 

“What?” 

“Thank you.” 

“For?” 

She gestured to everything around them, the truck, the pizza, the magazine, the dog in the back, her ankle wrapped on his thigh. 

“You don’t have to thank me for this.” 

“Well, I do, because I’m polite, and if my parents hear that I wasn’t polite, they’d send me to reform school. But beyond that, you’re doing a lot for me, and I really appreciate it, so I want to thank you. Even if I don’t have to. Even if you don’t expect me to. I want to. I want you to know that I’m not taking this for granted, that I’m not unaware of what you’re doing for me. I can’t describe it, but I do know that you deserve to be thanked, whether or not you see it the same way.” 

He reached a hand out from the steering wheel for hers, which she offered, and he brushed his thumb over her knuckles. 

“I don’t want to say you’re welcome, because it’s not something you have to thank me for, and I don’t want to say it’s no problem, because that makes it seem like it’s unimportant. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what’s going on here,” he said, gesturing between them and around them, encircling everything she had thanked him for, “but I care so much about you that it scares me a little. And I don’t want anything to happen to you. So, when I say you don’t have to thank me, I mean it. It was, everything we’ve done, it’s absolutely been my pleasure, Elizabeth Fitz-Simmons.” 

* * *

The first time Bitty made Grant flustered, she was reading out loud from the bodice ripper she’d grabbed at the gas station, which she’d grabbed mainly because of the title, _Master of the Mountain_ , and the elaborate painting of a shirtless man striking a remarkable resemblance to Grant himself with an axe in one hand and the small of girl’s back, the girl dressed in a strangely Victorian dress, in the other. 

“The writing in this book is not great,” Grant commented a few chapters into it. 

“The prose is a little halting, but you don’t really buy a romance novel for the plot or prose, do you? You buy it for the sex scenes. Socially acceptable porn for women, that a woman can read and enjoy in public without being scorned or scolded.” 

“I suppose that’s true,” he answered. 

She went back to the novel. It wasn’t a long novel, a mass market produced paperback with two hundred pages. It followed Diana, a debutante running from her dull future with a white picket fence, two kids, and a husband she barely liked, on her flight from the expected and straight into the waiting, strong arms of Clive, a lumberjack living alone in the woods on a mountain, a loner who didn’t realize how much he needed someone like Diana until she fell into his lap. 

“Oh, seems like it’s heating up,” she said, peeking ahead at the pages, having read enough harlequin romance novels in her spare time to recognize the change in the mood. 

“As in, you’re going to read a sex scene out loud to me while I’m driving?” 

“Is that a problem?” 

He cleared his throat, adjusted in his seat, and said, “no. Not a problem.” 

“Good.” 

“Tell me about Clive and Diana getting it on,” he said. 

“The door shut behind them, and Diana stood, unsure of what to do next. She had never done this, not that she was a blushing virgin, but they’d only known each other for a few days. How could she possibly? But Clive’s hands were on her hips, hot and heavy, and as he moved her slowly into the room deeper, she could not for the life of her think of why she could possibly say no, why she would want to.” 

“Not a ringing endorsement for wanting to fuck him, is it?” Grant asked. 

She continued, “Clive kissed her neck, and she felt the contact of his lips on her skin flush hot throughout her. 

“I want you so bad,’ Clive said into her ear, breath coming in little gusts of heat against the sensitive skin there. ‘Get on the bed like a good girl for me.’ 

“Diana obeyed. She’d never obeyed someone before, not like this, never like this. This was –” 

“If she says it’s hot, I’ll light the book on fire.” 

“This was _exciting_ ,” Bitty read, “a thrill of subservience racing through her. John had never caused such a flush in all of their years together. 

“How can I please you, sir?' she asked, teasingly opening the first two buttons on her dress to expose the swell of her bosom.” 

“Terrible,” Grant said. “Hate it.” 

“It’s not supposed to be good. Wait until she calls it his _manhood_ or his _meat stick_.” 

“Please, tell me they don’t.” 

“Wait and see, baby,” she said. 

“Take off your dress,’ he said, his voice rough as unworked timber. ‘Slowly.’ 

“She obeyed, starting with the next button, keeping eye contact with Clive the entire time. It was slow, a single button at a time, tracing her fingers down the exposed skin with each reveal. The tease of it, the intensity, all she could think was how she just wanted to be naked with him, bared to her fullest. She wanted to see him, and be seen by him, and have him all to herself. She wanted to please him, and pleasure him, and let him do the same in return. 

“Are you going to take off your clothes and join me?’ she asked, as the dress fell open fully to expose the length of her body. She let the dress off of her shoulders, puddling behind her on the bed where she reclined. ‘Or do you want me to finish this by myself?’ 

“Clive leaned over her and captured her mouth in a hot, searing kiss.” 

“Hot and searing are the same thing,” Grant commented. 

“She felt herself melt underneath it, puddling herself.” 

“Gross,” Grant said. 

Bitty kept reading with a playful wiggle of her toes at him, “His weight pressed her into the bed as the length of his body eased her backwards off her hands and onto her back. She went easily, spreading her legs so he fit perfectly in the cradle of her hipbones. The rigid line of his member pressed into her, and she moaned from the contact, from the friction of denim on her silk panties.” 

“ _Member_ ,” Grant scoffed. 

“Please,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper against his mouth, ‘give it to me.’ 

“Are you sure?’ he asked, stroking over her soft exposed skin. His fingers were somehow rough and soft at the same time, spikes of pleasure following his touch. 

“Yes,’ she said, ‘please, Clive.’ 

“As you wish, just relax and let me make you feel _so good_ ,’ he said, and he kissed down her body, one hand coming up to hold her in place by the base of her throat. There was no pressure, but was steady to keep her there. She took a deep breath and arched into his kisses, trying not to show how affected she was. She wasn’t that easy. 

“Except that she was. She definitely was. She definitely was for _him_. She’d let him take her anywhere, any way, any time, in front of anybody. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him, with him, beside him, underneath him. All she could focus on was the brush of his lips, the scratch of his stubble, and then his hand slipped behind her to release the clasp on her bra. The cool air of the cabin puckered her nipples as it swept over them.” 

“Puckered, hate that word,” Grant said. 

“It is a particularly bad word choice,” she agreed. “Quit interrupting.” 

“Not interrupting, I’m commenting.” 

“Comment quieter.” 

“Then, his mouth, warm and wet, closed around one, and she let out a noise she’d never made before. John never did this, never made her feel like this, never touched her or put his mouth on her. He was strictly missionary, lights off, under the covers, unless it benefited him. He’d accept a blowjob but he’d never go down on her in return.” 

“That’s just bad manners,” Grant said. 

“You have very _good_ manners, baby,” she said, rubbing her heel over his thigh. “I always appreciate it.” 

He winked at her, but didn’t say anything else. 

“She felt his first two fingers ducking underneath the band of her panties, teasing just at the edge of her wetness, just long enough to draw a small gasp from her. He buried his face in between her breasts, pressing open kisses there to her untouched skin, breathing in her scent. John never cared to kiss her during, or after. Everything about this, it felt new and exciting, effervescent, incandescent. 

“She arched into him, and whispered, ‘touch me, please. Take me.’ 

“He rolled his hips into her, and said softly, ‘how do you want it, then? Like this?’ 

“He punctuated that with another roll of his hips, hand keeping her down, in place, right where he wanted her, right where she wanted to be. Then, he moved his free hand back into her panties, using two fingers to rub her clit in circles, round and round, dizzyingly. 

“Or how about this?’ he asked, the next kiss harsh and his fingers disappearing, the hand around her throat squeezing the barest amount. ‘How do you want it? Tell me, Diana.’ 

“Hard,’ she gasped out, ‘fast. Hold me down. I wanna feel you inside of me for days after. Give me everything I’ve never had.’ 

“With pleasure,’ he agreed. He released her only long enough to pull her panties from her hips, tossing them away into the dim bedroom, and then shed his own clothes. His hard member,” a scoff from Grant followed, “sprung from his boxer briefs as he finished disrobing for her. He was nearly twice as long as John, and twice as thick. She’d never taken anything that large before, and she worried suddenly at her request. But she trusted him. She wasn’t sure why, or when, or how, but she trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her. She wanted this, to ache from him anyway, to feel him later after they had finished, after she had left. She wanted him, and that meant that she would take that long, beautiful member into her wet sex and never go back. 

“He left her on the bed for just a moment, kissing her before he was gone, rustling through his dresser to withdraw a box which he tossed beside her. It was an unopened box of XL condoms, which she studied for a moment as Clive came back to her. 

“Surprised?’ he asked, voice surprisingly light. 

“That you have condoms?’ 

“No,’ he answered, but didn’t elaborate. 

“A little, but also not at the same time,’ she decided. ‘I suspected, but until now, I had no proof. Obviously.’ 

“He hummed his reply, moving to settle between her spread legs, hitching her hips up on his thighs, taking the box from her. Then, he was kissing her, deep, his tongue sliding against hers expertly, fighting for dominance, distracting her while he worked the condom down his impressive length. Her hands didn’t know where to go, smoothing over the dark chest hair trailing down his torso, holding his hips, then sliding up his sides and down his arms. He was warm all over, his body tantalizingly close but not close enough. 

“She forgot how to breathe as he pressed into her,” she continued but paused to say, putting on her best impression of a sports commentator, “wow, poor foreplay from Clive. We just hate to see it, folks. Not even a single tongue used.” 

“Poor sportsmanship, not to use tongue,” Grant agreed. 

“He just went straight for the mount, no warm up, no lead up, no foreplay at all.” 

“Truly disappointing. Please go on, maybe he gets better.” 

“She forgot how to breathe as he pressed into her, forgot where her body was, forgot what she was, who she was. All she could remember, all she knew and cared about, was him. It ached as he moved, a good, steady ache, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to ask him to stop or to never stop, if she wanted to keep him in place or thrust in the rest of the way. She was almost sure that when he was fully rooted inside of her, she would be able to feel it- 

“I can’t even fucking finish that sentence,” she said, interrupting herself. “What a dumb sentence. Your fucking vagina is not connected to your goddamn throat, Diana.” 

“What?” 

“She was almost sure that when she was fully rooted inside of her, she would be able to feel it in her throat. Hoped, almost. She wanted it. It was all she wanted. The first time she’d had sex, it had been subpar but she had kind of fallen in love with not only the act, but the feeling of being filled this way. Travis had been nice, but even his fullness hadn’t been enough. This, though, she had no words for this. 

“Please,’ she said, voice a breath. ‘Please, more. Baby. Clive.’ 

“I’ve got you,’ he answered. ‘I’ll take care of you.’ 

“He moved into her, sinking deeper and deeper, until she was one with him, and he her, and they were one endless unit. His mouth claimed hers, his hips against hers, hands holding her still from the base of her throat again. Then, she felt him bottom out, and felt his tiny gasp of his breath against her lips. He nipped at her lips, and then he was moving inside of her, drawing out just to thrust back into her. There was a punched out noise from her that she wasn’t sure, just for a moment, actually came from her. 

“You’re perfect,’ he said into her skin, into her very being. ‘You feel so good. I can’t believe how wet you are, wet and warm and perfect.’ 

“You feel so good inside of me,’ she whimpered. 

“I could do this forever,’ he said, teeth raking over her neck. His thrusts were short, then long, ever changing to keep her guessing. She loved the surprise of what was coming next, of what he was going to do to her. There were kisses trailing from her mouth over her neck, the dip of her collarbone, the plane of her breastbone, the swell of her tit, the hard peak of her nipple. His mouth was hot, wet, insistent. She wondered if this is what it felt like for him, buried inside her, enveloped in that same kind of wet heat. 

“Diana didn’t have much purchase the way he was holding her, entirely at his mercy, but she somehow pushed back against him, asking for more, demanding it. There had never been anything this needy brewing inside of her before. He tsked at her, and squeezed at her neck to punish her lightly. 

“Behave,’ he groaned out. ‘I’ll give it to you.’ 

“Then do it,’ she challenged, her own voice high and reedy. 

“Naughty girl,’ he said, and then a wicked smile crossed his face. He slid out of her on the next downstroke, and leaned over to kiss her hard. ‘You asked for this, baby.’ 

“Suddenly and forcefully, he flipped her onto her knees and slammed home into her again, drawing a long, whimpering moan from her. It was overwhelming, and she loved it. This was exactly what she wanted. Again, and again, and again, over and over, he thrust his hard, perfect member into her wet neediness. He held her down, with his hand clamped on the nape of her neck, the other making a soft counterpoint while stroking down her spine. There wasn’t much noise in the bedroom, just the two of them on the side of a mountain, their breathing, the sound of flesh on flesh as he fucked into her hard, the quiet moans she couldn’t stop from escaping her like air from a balloon. 

“It didn’t take long at this punishing pace before the passion curled her toes against the mattress, and she couldn’t catch her breath, not that she wanted to ever again. She only wanted the sensation in her body to be his thrusts. She wanted to move, wanted to squirm, wanted him to plow into her endlessly, wanted him to never stop. The orgasm was slow building, starting in her belly and stretching out its endless fingers throughout the rest of her. It was bright, livewires dancing across her nerve endings, lighting her up from the inside. If she lifted her hands up to her vision, she was sure she could see light coming from underneath her skin. The noises she made weren’t entirely human, but gods, she didn’t feel human any longer. She was just an exposed nerve, Clive’s hardness stroking every bit of her. And it lasted forever. By the time, she had come down from the high of her orgasm, she wasn’t sure if she was alive anymore. If she had died, it was one hell of a way to go. Clive thrust once, twice, three times before he froze behind her with a long, deep, almost animalistic growl. 

“She went boneless underneath him, tired, her chest heaving, as Clive covered her body with his, his cheek resting between her shoulder blades. He hadn’t pulled out of her yet, but she didn’t need him to. She didn’t want him to. This was perfect. There was nothing she wanted more than just to lay here forever. Never move. Stay here, on this mountain, below this man. A perfect moment.” 

Grant had gone quiet, and when she looked up from the book, just a quick flick to make sure Grant hadn’t jumped out of the truck and let it just continue driving without him down the interstate, she paused. There was a lightest pink coloring to his cheeks and down his throat, just a little, barely visible in the golden hour sunlight. But she’d stared and studied him enough to see it. 

Grant Ward was _blushing_. 

Grant Ward was blushing at a harlequin romance novel sex scene, something that middle-aged housewives read without a blink. 

“You okay?” she asked. 

“Uhhh, yeah,” he said, voice strained. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yepp. Positive. Everything is a-okay here.” 

“Mmmhm, sure,” she said, and she slid along the seat to press up against him, moving her legs to drape over his lap. She didn’t have a lot of leg, which she could blame on both branches of her family tree, so she didn’t have to worry about the other side of the truck. “Now, I’ve been kind of locked away in my ivy league ivory tower, but _a-okay_ , is that slang for I have a boner that I can’t take care of right now because I’m driving and we have another couple of hours of driving to go before this can be taken care of?” 

“You’re an asshole,” he muttered. 

She kissed his neck, and slid her hand along his chest to his lap, and more importantly, the firm line of his cock in his jeans. 

“Do you want me to help you out or not?” 

“I wouldn’t say no to your help.” 

She nipped his earlobe, then. 

“Keep your eyes on the road, then, Grant Ward, and don’t crash us.” 

* * *

In the motel that night, Grant ordered Chinese and let Bitty nap on his chest while they waited. She didn’t normally nap this much, but the sunshine and reading a whole book was tiring. As soon as she fell into the bed and into Grant’s arms, she was asleep. 

Again, the dream came to her vivid and warm and bright. 

The sound of Lake Ontario soothes her, familiar and steady, the shush of the waves and the cry of seagulls like a salve on her nerves. 

Grant sat next to her, bare-chested and bare-footed, staring out across the lake, brow furrowed. 

“Hey,” she says, sitting up. “Fancy meeting you here.” 

He turns to face her, but his expression stays cloudy, the corners of his lips turned down. 

“Why would you let me go, Bitty?” he asks. 

“I haven’t, you’re right here.” 

“You let them take me.” 

“No, I didn’t.” 

She reaches for him, but even though he was right beside her, he’s too far and her touch falls short. 

“I thought you cared about me.” 

His voice isn’t right, thick and warbling, an echo taunting her ears. 

“I do.” 

Her own sounds like she’s underwater, and then, she is in the depths of Lake Ontario. Grant is nowhere in sight, even as she twirls around in the water. She grew up in these waters, and she was a strong swimmer for it, but the water is thick and murky and she’s slow in a way that isn’t natural. 

“Grant!” she tries to call, but water rushes in and chokes her. He doesn’t respond, and she can’t breathe, and she kicks her legs towards the surface but she doesn’t move, and. 

* * *

She woke sputtering and coughing on water that wasn’t there, gripping onto the closest solid thing. Grant. 

“Hey,” Grant said softly, gently, trying not to spook her, “are you okay?” 

“Holy shit,” she coughed, gripping his shirt. 

“Bitty,” he said, trying not to spook her any further. 

A knock came at the door, and Grant instinctually moved to protect her while she was vulnerable, putting his body between her and the door, letting her hand in his shirt keep him close. 

“Probably just the Chinese,” he said after a moment, body relaxing. “Stay here.” 

“I don’t think my knees would work even if I wanted them to,” she replied. 

He kissed her, soft and quick, before he stood up off the bed and crossed the room. Buddy hopped up on the bed to lay his head on her lap, even though he wasn’t supposed to be on the bed. She carded her fingers through his fur absently, watching Grant open the door to a delivery man hidden behind their large bag of food. 

She didn’t have dreams, none that she remembered. Even when she was a kid, her parents said that she never dreamt. She didn’t have nightmares. She didn’t get scared of her dreams, even after the trauma of being kidnapped and impaled. Hydra didn’t lurk like a shadow behind her. Monsters, pain, it didn’t haunt her the way everyone expected. Sleep was her escape, her mind racing and repeating while she was awake that it just shut down when she did. 

The fact that all of a sudden she was vividly remembering her dreams, her _nightmares_ was concerning. 

Was that because of the device, some side-effected of it jettisoning her body through time and space? Because of her feelings for Grant, something she had never experienced before? Because of the trauma of fucking up over and over, this fuck up leaving her stranded on a mountain forty years in the past? 

Could trauma manifest this way, this suddenly, this bright and hot and terrifying? 

She was definitely going to visit Doctor Appleby, the SHIELD agent therapist that she’d been seeing since she woke up after the surgery removing the pole from her abdomen following her kidnapping. Appleby was going to have some _thoughts_ for her on what she’d done and why she didn’t just return to their time when she realized her mistake and what she was doing in the first place messing with a time-travel device her father had _shelved_ for being too dangerous. 

That was the part she dreaded about going home, having to explain her thought process. 

There wasn’t one, that was half her problem. 

Her curiosity got the better of her common sense and made her do stupid things like this. But for once, she didn’t regret it. 

Grant came back with their dinner and shooed Buddy off the bed. 

“Food?” he offered. 

“Yeah,” she answered distractedly, looking at the muscles in his forearms, “sure. Food.” 

“ _I’m_ not the food,” Grant said, sitting on the bed beside her. 

“Sorry, that dream got me fucked up apparently.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t know yet,” she answered. “Let’s eat and I’ll let you know.” 

Grant unpacked the bag and set the containers out between them on the bedspread. She surveyed the choices, and took up the sweet and sour chicken and egg roll. 

“Forks?” she asked just as Grant withdrew a small army of forks from the bottom of the bag. “How many people do they think we are?” 

“They’re judging us, clearly,” he said, taking a container of fried rice for himself. They ate in silence, Buddy staring at them from the floor with wide sad eyes. Bitty can’t help herself and threw a piece of the breaded chicken for Buddy to catch. 

“You’re a softie,” Grant said. 

“What? He’s cute.” 

“Didn’t take you for someone who falls for a cute face.” 

“Well, I’m here with you, aren’t I? And you’ve got the cutest face.” 

“And here I thought you liked me for my personality,” Grant said lightly, forking a lump of rice into his mouth with a grin. 

“It’s a combination of looks and personality, but at first, it was definitely that face.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

She offered him a piece of chicken dunked in sauce as a means of truce, which he took off her fork slowly, teasingly. 

“You know,” she said, “you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, even growing up around SHIELD agents.” 

“I’d guess most SHIELD agents aren’t juvenile delinquents, so I imagine that that is true.” 

“I mean, you’ll be surprised at the types that sign up,” she said, dipping her egg roll into the sweet and sour sauce. “My aunt Daisy was technically trying to expose SHIELD when she was recruited. One of Dad’s friends, Uncle Hunter was a mercenary and assassin before he came to join the team. It doesn’t matter where you came from.” 

“You keep saying that.” 

“I keep meaning it,” she said with a shrug. 

* * *

Later, watching a rerun of an old prime time show, Bitty finally sat up and sighed. 

“Okay. I want to talk about it.” 

Grant checked his watch. 

“It’s been three hours.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s complicated, and I don’t want to think about it, but I want to talk about it, so,” she said, and stuck her tongue out at him like a child. 

“Sorry, go ahead.” 

“I don’t dream,” she said, which is how she always started off a conversation about her lack of dreams. Most people didn’t believe her. Most people said that she did dream, it just was that she didn’t remember them. “Like, ever. Not even after the kidnapping. I just don’t dream. It hasn’t been a problem for me, even though people think it’s weird or that I’m lying to them. Anyway, I don’t dream, except for the past two days. When I fell asleep on your chest, and in the bed at the last hotel, for some reason, I have these really vivid dreams about you and what happens after I get home.” 

“What happened?” 

“First one, we were making out by Lake Ontario, which is apparently a particular fantasy of mine in case you’re wondering,” she said. 

“Noted.” 

“And then, someone was trying to drag you away, and I was trying to hold onto you, and there was a voice telling me that I should let you go, because you’re going to go away anyway, and how you didn’t belong to me, and then you slipped from my hand and were gone. And today, you were there beside me, but you said that I let you go, and asked how I could have done that, how could I have just let you go, and then I was drowning in the Ontario, and I couldn’t see you. And I woke up because I swallowed water, and I couldn’t breathe.” 

“Nightmares are terrible,” Grant said softly. “They’re hard to shake.” 

“I’m not used to it,” she said, shaking her head. She could still feel the water in her throat, trying to cough up something that didn’t exist. “And I don’t know how to handle it.” 

“If it happens again, just let me know.” 

“What can you do?” 

“Not much, but I can hold onto you, remind you what’s real. Whenever I get a nightmare, I focus and list all of the things that I can prove are real.” 

“Thanks, Grant.” 

He reached out and ran his fingers down the length of her spine. 

“Come back here.” 

Slowly, she scooted back into the space beside Grant and let him tuck her into his side, his hand sliding up into the thick of her hair and fingertips rubbing circles into her scalp. 

“You’re so good at this,” she said. “Do you know that?” 

“I just care about you.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

They settled under the covers, the prime time show reaching its expected conclusion. When she fell asleep this time, she blissfully doesn’t dream. 

* * *

They purposefully took the wrong exit. 

They drove in the slow lane. 

They made more stops than necessary. 

When Bitty saw a sign for an interesting attraction off of the interstate, she’d turned to Grant, and he’d say, “sure.” 

Just like that. 

The drive, based on Bitty’s calculations, should’ve taken two days of driving, maybe three if they were pokey. But somehow, they stretched it out to a whole week. They took detours into Chicago, and Toledo, and Cleveland, and Erie, and Fredonia, and Buffalo, some small, and some long, depending on the day, on the city. 

“Hey, head off the highway towards Rochester,” she said softly. “I want to show you something.” 

“You have secrets in Rochester?” 

“No, but I know where there are secrets in Rochester.” 

He turned off the highway and she directed him through to Sea Breeze Pier. He parked the truck just off the pier, facing the water, and stared out over it, resting his chin on the steering wheel. 

“I know that that is not the ocean, but is that the ocean?” Grant asked. 

“Not quite,” she said. “Come on, let me show you around.” 

She hopped out of the truck and let Buddy out of the back of the truck. They’d had to buy him a collar and a leash after getting in trouble in one of the cities for having a dog off leash. He wasn’t used to it, but he was a good dog who settled in to the leash. He sat and waited for the leash, and accepted her scratches behind the ear. 

“You want to see some water, Bud?” 

He was an intelligent dog, but sometimes, when they locked eyes, there was nothing going on behind his eyes, just television static. 

“We’re not far from where you grew up, right? From home?” 

“Not at all, probably about an hour from River’s End.” 

A lot of her school trips were to Rochester, and when she got bored, her aunts would take her shopping in the city. It was within reach, her home, although not in the right time. She’d have to use the resources from the bunker that hadn’t been touched since it was created in the 1950s, and pray that that didn’t change anything about the future. 

“Do you want to stay the night here, or do you want to go home today?” 

“I don’t know yet,” she said, leading them towards the pier, Buddy walking along beside her while she barely held the leash. “I don’t know if I’m ready to go home.” 

“That’s okay, we’ll do whatever you want,” he said. 

All she could focus on was the water before them, Lake Ontario stretching out magnificently. She loved it. She wasn’t a fan of the ocean, too tumultuous, too changing. But this lake, this lake had raised her, had babysat her, had soothed her. Whenever she was too wild, too awake, too scared, she’d leave the bunker and find her way to the shore. She’d sit on the edge, her feet in the water, and just let the waves lap at her feet slowly. In the winter, she’d watch the ice glisten on the water, and she’d dip her hand in cautiously, let the lake ice her nerves, a familiar friend. 

She led him onto Sea Breeze Pier, and they sat on a bench near the end. 

“So, this is Lake Ontario. It’s technically the smallest Great Lake, but it’s really deep, has four times more water than Lake Erie, although it’s roughly the same size. Lake Ontario is home to the Thousand Islands, and it’s also the most polluted. It’s the runoff from all the other lakes.” 

Staring out over the water, she took Grant’s hand, setting Buddy’s leash between them. 

“I love this lake,” she said softly. “I’ve traveled around the world, seen Scotland and England and remote places that I never got dream of, well, metaphorically. I’ve seen all of the Great Lakes, swam in each on, but none of them are this one. This one, she’s special in a way I can’t explain. I grew up on this lake, learned how to swim, played when it was hot, and marveled at when it was cold. When I was growing up, before I fell in love with language, I was in love with this first. Mum tells me that I was impossible to get out of the water once they taught me how to swim, she used to call me her little guppy.” 

Grant smiled at that. 

“It is beautiful.” 

“Ontario, in the Wyandot language, means Lake of Shining Waters,” she said, “and god, do these waters shine.” 

There was remarkably less pollution in the past, less corporations spilling sludge without remorse. 

“What else?” 

“Babe Ruth hit his first major league home run in Toronto, and it landed in Lake Ontario. It’s believed to still be in here. There’s a ship wreck, a Canadian warship, that sank in 1804, the ship was named, His Majesty’s Ship Speedy.” 

“That’s a terrible name.” 

“Well, it was 1804.” 

“That is a fair point.” 

She stared out over the lake without looking at Grant, letting the familiar sight of its slow waves welcome her back. 

“I don’t know what I want to do,” she said. “I just want to stay here for a while.” 

“We can stay,” he said. “We don’t have to go anywhere. We can stay here forever.” 

* * *

“Okay,” she said, tipping her tea back and draining the last bits of the drink. “Worst fear.” 

Grant lifted his own cup of coffee to his lips and took a sip. They were sitting at an all-night diner, Bitty’s feet up in Grant’s lap while they waited for their meal. It was late at night. They’d found a hotel room with a view of the water, but Bitty had been restless, unable to relax so close to home. Grant had offered seeing the city at night and getting a meal to help settle her down. 

“Wow, okay, I guess, right now, anything happening to you. But historically, never getting out of my house, never being free from my family, never being able to lead my own life. And you?” 

“This is going to sound privileged, but mediocrity.” 

“Really?” 

“It’s hard living in the shadows of Agent Fitz and Agent Simmons, and I want to be worth that legacy. But it’s always terrified me that I won’t be able to live up to their name. Also, unending darkness is pretty fucking terrifying.” 

He laughed. His free hand dropped to her ankle, rubbing his thumb along the bone’s hard ridge. 

“Okay, so, flipside of that. You said you’re afraid you won’t live up to their name. So, what does that look like? What is your greatest wish?” 

“Oh, good question,” she said, just as the waitress swung by their table. “Can I get another hot tea, please?” 

“Absolutely, and for you? More coffee?” 

“Yes, please,” Grant said. 

“Okay, and your food should be out soon.” 

“Thank you,” Bitty said, and the waitress left. “Okay, so, greatest wish. Let’s see. I’ve always wanted to, I don’t know. I want to build great technological leaps that change lives, that change how SHIELD agents act in the field, bring more of them home. I want to make it easier for people to communicate, build a translator that actually works and connects people. There’s so many things dividing us, language shouldn’t be one of them.” 

He smiled at her. 

“I know you probably get asked this a lot, but I want to hear you speak a different language.” 

“Do you have a preference?” 

“Your favorite?” 

“Scots, then,” she said. “Tha mi a ’smaoineachadh gu bheil mi ann an gaol leat.” 

“Oh, wow,” he said, grinning. “That was hot. Strangely hot. What does it mean?” 

She was saved from answering, and instead winked at him, as the waitress came back with a hot cup of black tea steeping, a coffee pot to refill Grant’s cup, and their plates of food. Bitty went sweet breakfast, getting a stack of pancakes, while Grant went savory, getting an omelet. It was just like that little town in Colorado. 

“Anything else I can get you?” the waitress asked. 

“No, thank you,” Bitty answered. 

When they were alone again, Bitty looked at Grant, cutting his omelet meticulously. 

“What about you, Grant Ward? What do you want from life? Most of all, what do you want now?” 

“To eat my food, first,” Grant said. 

“Don’t deflect.” 

He sighed and set his silverware down. 

“I want to see the world. I want to try food I’ve never tried, and hear languages I’ve never heard. I want to be a good agent, and make a difference, and I want to make people proud. I don‘t even have people to make proud, but still. I want to be good,” he said. “If nothing else, I want to be worthy of you at the end of the day.” 

She reached out and took his hand over the table. 

“You already are.” 

* * *

“What do you want to do?” he asked on the second day in Rochester. 

“I don’t know.” 

So, they stayed in the city without making any movement towards River’s End. 

* * *

“Are you running from something?” he asked on the third day. 

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t think so.” 

So, they stayed in the city. 

* * *

“Are you afraid of what your dad is going to say?” he asked on the fourth day. 

“I don’t know,” she said, staring up at the ceiling of their hotel room. “Maybe.” 

So, they stayed in the city. 

* * *

He didn’t ask her anything on the fifth day, just held her close in their shared bed and told her stories about surviving in the Wyoming forests, about Garrett leaving for six months and leaving him alone to fend for himself, about Garrett teaching him to shoot, and running him through drills to keep him alive in any situation. Bitty let him talk, listening to his life without complaint, holding onto him as if that would stop them from having to split apart. 

She’d never felt like this with anyone, and she didn’t know what to do with it, what to do about it. Her parents had grown into each other, had learned how to love each other, time their greatest ally. It would be fine if Bitty and Grant lived in the same time period, she’d walk into the base knowing that it wasn’t impossible, that she would see him again and she would be able to form a life with him. The reality was that Grant was forty years older than her, and when she went home, which she had to do eventually, if he was still alive, he was older than her parents. If she stayed here with him, she would never see her parents again, not as they are, not as Mum and Dad. She couldn’t stay, and she didn’t want to go. It was obvious that she shouldn’t have let Grant so close in the first place, but she just couldn’t help herself. How could she? 

“I don’t want to go home if it means leaving this, leaving you. But I know we can’t hide out in this hotel forever.” 

“We could run away together,” Grant offered, carding his fingers through her hair, left loose after her shower that morning. 

“Where would we go?” 

“Anywhere you want to go. Somewhere on the water,” he said. 

“Would you become a fireman in this new life?” 

“I would. And we could get an apartment, and I’d get a firefighter position, and we’d adopt another dog.” 

“Oh, I like that.” 

“And you, what would you do?” 

“Teach, maybe, in this fantasy. Get a master’s in education and teach language at the local high school. Maybe English as a second language at a local community center.” 

“You’d be a good teacher.” 

“And you’d be a good firefighter. We’d be the ultimate power couple. Every one of our neighbors would be jealous.” 

“We’d put away a little money every month for a down payment on a house, and we’d find one of the water, close enough that you’d always be able to see the lake.” 

“We’d stay on Lake Ontario?” 

“Of course,” he said. “There’s no way I’m taking you away from here after that love confession you gave for it.” 

She kissed his shoulder where she could reach. 

“This is all very me-based. What do you want out of it?” 

“To be with you.” 

“That’s extremely sweet,” she said. 

“I mean, I have enough money to buy a really nice car at some point, that’s part of the fantasy, but mostly, I come home to you in our home every day. We’re not hunted, or in danger. You’re safe, and happy. That’s the dream.” 

She kissed him slowly, holding his jaw to keep him still and close. They stayed in bed all day except to take Buddy outside, ordering room service to the room charged to a card that Grant said was “for emergencies.” 

“I want a soaking tub in our dream house,” she said, laying in the patch of sunshine streaming in through the window and onto the bed. 

“I’ll build you a house if you can’t find one you love,” he replied, tracing over her scar and making designs that swirled and curved out from it. 

“Yes, please. I love a big, strong, house-building man.” 

“What else do you want?” 

“A big kitchen, with an island. A back deck. A laundry room. A library or laboratory, for experiments.” She paused, staring up at the ceiling. “Three bedrooms, at least.” 

“What are we going to do with so many bedrooms?” 

She looked at him. 

“What? You don’t want a fantasy family with me?” 

Grant’s hand froze where it was tracing a swirl around her navel, and Bitty closed her eyes to ignore what his face might be doing. 

“You want a family with me?” he asked, his voice terribly small, and Bitty couldn’t stop herself from opening her eyes to see his face. 

“Of course, I do,” she said. “God, Grant, of course, I do.” 

“Why?” 

It was so small, she almost didn’t hear it, but she turned onto her side to face him. 

“I think you’re make a good father, a good partner. I know you think you’re not good, but I do. I’d absolutely have a family with you.” 

He reached out and played with her hair, a faint curl left from her shower. 

“How many kids?” he asked. 

“Two, maybe three, if we’re feeling crazy.” 

“Okay. What would we name them?” 

“Well, first, we’re hyphenating our last name,” she decided. She wasn’t going to give up the heritage and love story in her name for anyone, not even Grant. “Fitz-Simmons-Ward.” 

“Okay.” 

“Second, boys or girls?” 

“Two girls, one boy,” Grant answered after a moment. 

“I’ve always liked the name Evelyn, for a girl, who we could call Evie, or Eve.” 

“I like that, it’s cute.” 

She grinned at him. 

“Now, I love the idea of naming my son after my father, but while I love my dad more than anything, I cannot name a child Leopold.” 

“Your dad is named _Leopold_?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Yeah, I’m going to veto that, too.” 

She laughed, but continued, “his middle name, though, is James, which I’ve always liked.” 

“James Fitz-Simmons-Ward,” Grant replied, and nodded his agreement. “We can’t call him Jimmy, though. I had an instructor in the military academy named Jimmy that I hated, he made my life a living hell every day.” 

“Jamie, then?” 

“Better.” 

“So, Evelyn, James, what do you think for our other daughter?” 

“What about after your mom?” 

“What? Jemma?” 

“Or her middle name, like your dad?” 

“Anne,” she answered, and Grant nodded. 

“Anne,” he agreed. 

“There’s no one in your family you’d want to honor? No one at all?” 

“No. I want this to be untouched by them,” he said. 

“Okay, so we have three beautiful children: Evelyn, James, and Anne. We have a house you’ve build for us, at least two dogs, we’re married, and blissfully happy.” 

Grant kissed her, as if sealing the deal on their future together. 

“Sounds perfect,” Grant said, and they both ignored how unrealistic this fantasy was. 

* * *

“I should go home today,” she said on the sixth day. Grant’s hand tightened against her waist, but he didn’t argue. “My parents are going to be so mad, and I’ve been trying to avoid it. But as much as I don’t want to leave you, I have to go home. It’s going to suck so much to watch you drive away.” 

“I know,” Grant agreed. 

“But we should get breakfast, check out, and maybe by the time we get to River’s End, I can convince myself to let you drive away.” 

“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to drive away even if you let me. I never expected to feel like this for anyone, or so quickly. It’s crazy that I don’t want to let you go after just two weeks. That’s — Bitty,” he cut himself off. 

“I know,” she said. She could hear the confession for what it was. “I know.” 

* * *

River’s End was, and is, a beautiful town, small and almost quaint, something you’d find on a TV show. Bitty tried not to marvel at the changes. It made sense that the world, the town would change in forty years. But the house that hid the entrance to the base was right where she expected it to be. 

Grant pulled into the driveway, and Bitty stared up at the house. 

“It’s just a house,” she said, “and yet, somehow, it is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Most of me wants to put the car in reverse and drive us out of this town for good, and never come back.” 

“Most of me wouldn’t mind.” 

He sighed. 

“I have to let you go, though,” he said solemnly. “It’s not fair to keep you just because I want to. You need to go home, and live your life. Get your PhDs, and be brilliant, and make the work better. If I’m lucky, we’ll cross paths. I’ll be sent on a mission that leads me here. And if I don’t, I can just fabricate a reason to find you.” 

She wanted to tell him the truth, that he would reach out to her and she wouldn’t be anywhere, that she would be forty years in the future, that by the time he reaches her, he’ll be sixty-two or more and she would still be twenty-one. But then, she’d have to watch his trust slide off his face, his walls slide up, his eyes go hard. She wanted to remember Grant just like this, soft and loving. 

Instead, she reached out and took his head off of the wheel, sliding her fingers between his. 

“We’ll see each other again, Grant Ward,” is all she could say. 

When she kissed him, she never wanted to stop, never wanted to breathe again without him in her space, never wanted to taste anything else but the salt of his skin. When she drew away, she brushed her thumb over his jawline just to remember the curve of it. She would never see this man again, not like this, not young and soft and all hers. She would never kiss him, never wake up beside him, never hear his laugh. 

“You have to drive away when I get out of the truck,” she said, “or else I’m going to run right back to you.” 

“Okay,” he said. “I will.” 

When he kissed her, she gripped his jacket and studied the way his lips fit against hers, the way his tongue slipped into his mouth, the way his stubble tickled her skin. She wanted to remember it all, just in case she never felt like this for anyone else, just in case she did. She never wanted to forget Grant Ward. 

She forced herself to climb out of the truck, and grab her bag from the truck bed, giving Buddy one last scratch. Even if she saw Grant again, she’d never see this sweet boy. 

“You take good care of him, okay?” she said, keeping Buddy’s gaze. He licked her hand, and she took that as an affirmative. 

She stopped by Grant’s rolled down window, bag slung over her shoulder, and leaned into it. 

“One more for the road?” she asked. 

He leaned out and they shared one last, short, sweet kiss, lingering in each other’s space. 

“You take care of yourself, Grant Ward, and you be good. Our future kids need a hero to look up to,” she said, and she stepped away. 

“I’ll see you later, Fitz-Simmons.” 

She turned and headed for the front walk, just as Grant put the truck in reverse. It took everything in her to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, over and over, until she was up the steps of this fake home she’d pretended to live at for all of her life, and when she turned to look over her shoulder, the truck turned off of her street and was gone from sight. 

* * *

Not much change in the house, or in the long hallway leading from the house to the Lighthouse. When Bitty was growing up, there was a cart that would ferry her back and forth between the two, but her dad hadn’t built that yet. While she walked down the long, dark hallway, she pulled her device out of her bag and examined it. The battery had recharged to full within twenty minutes of its first use, but she wanted to fix the tuning system before she took off, and she’d have to use the Lighthouse’s resources, what little and outdated there were. All she could do was keep taking steps forward, away from Grant, away from two amazing weeks she’d never forget. If she stopped, she wouldn’t be able to start walking forward again. 

The Lighthouse was cold and dark and dusty, and even though she’d resented it for so long, it had always been warm and filled with people. She’d run through its endless halls, ducking around SHIELD agents, dodging her aunts and uncles, too small and quick to catch. It was so empty then, standing in the past, looking at the outdated central area where the team met and had briefings. Of course, it was different, but she still knew the Lighthouse’s secrets. 

She knew the secret hideaways, the little crawl spaces, where the files no one wanted to see were hidden. In the basement, she rifled through file boxes until she found the missing alien energy pack that had been stolen at some point after it had been logged. Staring at it pulsing in her hands, Bitty laughed to herself. Maybe she was supposed to be here all along. 

“You are coming with me,” she said, tucking it away into her bag. “If I went through all of this, I’m definitely getting what I came for.” 

She kept moving, working. It took two more days to locate all of the pieces she’d need to upgrade the time device, and then install the upgrades to the device itself. She didn’t think of Grant, pointedly, pushing away any thoughts of him. 

If she stopped, she’d leave and catch a bus back to Colorado and stay with Grant forever. 

If she stopped, she’d picture their future together, their kids with his eyes and her curly hair, running around wild in their dream house, teaching them to swim in the same lake that she had. She’d imagine the way Grant looked in the morning right after he’d woken up, the pillow creases on his cheek, the messy bedhead, the sleepy smile, what he might look like in five, ten, fifteen years, what he’d look like older, with gray at his temples and crow’s feet. The longer they’d spent together, the harder Grant slept, which made her heart sing a little. Grant’s trust was the most precious gift she’d ever been given. 

If she stopped, she’d lose. 

So, she kept going, building and perfecting until the work was done. Her ankle was better, still aching if she put too much weight on it, and her hands had started to ache as well. IT was fine, the pain kept her grounded, kept her going. She’d get her mum to fix her ankle, and soothe her hands using the salve she’d made for Leo Fitz when his hands started to ache from his work. 

When the device was ready, Bitty attuned it to her signature again, the scan sweeping over her, running a cold touch down her spine, and twisted the dial to her destination, both time and location this time. 

Her finger hesitated over the button, unready to commit. 

“Grant, if you’re going to stop me, now is the time,” she said into the empty Lighthouse. Grant was probably back in Colorado by then, though, without her stops and hesitation. “Okay, please work, then. Please.” 

She pressed the button, the vibration that she felt the first time deep in her cells swept over her again, her stomach dropped and a wave of nausea kicked her in the chest, sending her stumbling. The room around her was warm, and bright, and she stumbled towards the nearest trash can to throw up her breakfast. 

“Bitty?” her dad said, his voice warm and worried. “Jemma! She’s back!” 

When he yelled, it was too loud and too harsh in Bitty’s ears, her head too large and throbbing with a headache. 

“Shhhh,” she mumbled, reaching up to hold her head up. 

“Are you okay?” 

He came to her side and touched her back, rubbing circles into it the way he always did when she was sick. 

“I need a nap,” she said. “I don’t recommend traveling through time and space in a tank top.” 

“Okay, come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

“Oh, Bitty,” her mum’s voice came as her dad moved to help her stand on shaky legs. “What’s going on? Where have you been?” 

“Interrogation later, please, Mum,” Bitty said. 

“Let’s get her to our rooms, Jemma,” her dad said, and without argument, Jemma Fitz-Simmons swept her arm around Bitty and together, her family helped her to her room. It didn’t matter what Bitty had done, or how long she had been gone, or how old she was. At the end of the day, she had Fitz-Simmons in her corner. 

She lay down with a sigh, her mum sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. 

“I saw that limp, Elizabeth,” her mum said, “what’d you do to your ankle?” 

“Twisted it.” 

“Where?” 

“If I say on a mountain, will you believe me?” 

“Are you lying to me?” 

“No.” 

“Okay. I’m going to get your dad’s hand salve for your hands. Get some sleep, Elizabeth.” 

“Thanks, Mum.” 

Jemma kissed her daughter on the forehead, and stood up. 

“I love you, Bitty.” 

“I love you, too.” 

* * *

When she opens her eyes, she’s laying on the beach, flat on her back, staring up at the bright blue cloudless sky, and she knows that Grant is nearby. She sits up, excited to see him again after saying goodbye, and when she sits, she hears a giggle that warms her insides. 

“Grant?” she calls, and when she looks around, she finds him. He’s standing hip deep in the lake, a giggling girl with lightly curling brown hair on his hip. 

“Mummy!” the girl says reaching towards Bitty. 

“Come here, Bits,” Grant says, and Bitty is magnetically pulled towards them. 

“How’s the water?” she asks, reaching for their daughter. This had to be Evelyn, she thinks, and when Grant passes her over, of course, it’s Evelyn, their perfect little girl. Evelyn Daisy Fitz-Simmons-Ward is a perfect blend of the two of them, just as she had imagined. 

“As if you wouldn’t dive in during the winter,” Grant laughs, and she loves that sound so much. 

“I would,” she says, swinging Evelyn around as she stepped into the water. 

“How’s Little Time Traveler?” Grant asks, his hand smoothing over her stomach, just round enough to be noticeable. 

“He’s great,” she answers, leaning in to kiss Grant. 

“Good.” 

Then, in a blink, Grant is gone, Evelyn is screaming, and the water is icy around Bitty’s ankles. Her feet won’t move, her feet are frozen, literally, below the surface of Lake Ontario, it’s waters glassy and unwelcoming. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweet girl,” Bitty says to the little girl crying in her arms. Evelyn’s screams drive straight into Bitty’s ears. 

“Why would you let us go?” Grant asks, and then Evelyn is gone, only her screams left echoing over the water. “Bitty, you loved us, and you just walked away.” 

“I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay here forever.” 

“Then why did you leave?” 

His voice is fading, and she can barely hear him. 

“Grant, come back, I love you.” 

But he doesn’t respond, and then, the lake is surging around her, and she can’t breathe, and she’s being pulled under by an icy hand around her ankle, and. 

* * *

She woke spluttering and coughing again, unable to clear the nonexistent water from her throat. Her dad surged forward from the chair he was sleeping in and pulled her towards him. 

“Breathe, Bitty.” 

She inhaled finally, clearing the imaginary water from her lungs. 

“Dad,” she choked, and he let her fall into his arms just like when she was a child. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.” 

“Why would I be mad at you?” 

“I messed up.” 

“That’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

“I did something stupid,” she said. 

“Traveling through time isn’t a good idea,” he agreed, but she shook her head. 

“No, that’s not what I was talking about. I met someone when I was traveling, and I got to know them, and I fell - god, I fell in love with them, and now I will never see them again because that was 2005 and they’re sixty-three now.” 

“Oh,” he said. “That’s certainly not ideal.” 

Her laugh was broken with a tiny sob, too small to survive on its own, and she buried her face into his chest. Her heart was breaking, but at least, she had her father there. 

“You’re okay,” he soothed, smoothing her hair back from her face. “I know it hurts, being in love, being in love like this, and it feels like it’ll hurt forever, but it will get better. Slowly, unfortunately, but it’ll get better every day. Even when it doesn’t feel like it’s getting better, even when you have days where you miss him more than you can form words for, it’s getting better.” 

“I already miss him, Dad, and it’s only been three days.” 

“You’re okay,” he said again. 

“Why do people want this? Why do we keep searching for a thing that hurts so goddamn much?” 

“Because of how good it feels to be with the person we love. You forget about the hurt when you’re with them. All you can focus on is them, and the fact that they’re there with you.” 

“I can’t ever see him again.” 

“I know.” 

He just held her like he always had, and let her cry. 

Jemma walked in, and climbed into bed with them, taking Bitty’s other side, her shields against the world, open and closed parenthesis keeping her safe from the rest of the story just for a little bit. 

“What happened, Bits?” she asked, soft, her bedside manner as impeccable as ever. “Why’d you do it?” 

“Oh,” she said, reminded, reaching for her bag and dragging it over her father’s lap to her own. “Turns out that I’m the thief after all.” 

She pulled the energy pack out from beside her clothes and set it on her father’s lap. 

“Elizabeth,” he sighed, not mad but exasperated. Disappointed. “What were you thinking? What you did was dangerous, not just for you but for history, the timeline itself. You could have changed the future, erased yourself from existence. You could have _died_ , Bitty, and we’d never have known where you were or if you were ever going to return.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I messed up.” 

Except, she didn’t regret it. She couldn’t. She’d been blissfully happy with Grant, wrapped up in their own world together, seeing the country, getting to know him. 

“Tell us what happened,” Leo said, voice gentle again. 

“I figured the energy pack had to be in the Lighthouse at some point, and we needed it. So, I built that personal time travel device based on Dad’s earlier designs, and I went back to get it. Except I built it wrong, and wound up in Colorado in 2005. So, clearly, I did it wrong.” 

“You used an untested instrument of a scrapped design,” Leo said. 

“Yeah.” 

“That was stupid.” 

“Fitz,” Jemma scolded. 

“No, he’s right. I know it was. But I don’t regret it either.” 

“What’s his name?” Leo asked, but she shook her head. 

“I’m not telling you. You can’t just go fight him now. He’s older than you and bigger than you, and probably doesn’t even remember me.” 

“Bitty, of course he remembers you,” Jemma said, squeezing her arm. “You’re wonderful.” 

“It’s been 40 years.” 

“He remembers you.” 

She put her hand on her mum’s and sighed. 

“I appeared in the mountains, and he was there, and he was helping me to get home. He was really nice, and he didn’t expect anything from me, and he never hurt me, and he drove me across the country back to River’s End. He’s a SHIELD agent, or he was going to be joining the Academy to become one.” 

“You somehow went to the wrong place, wrong time, and you met a SHIELD agent,” Leo asked. 

“I know. It was weird to me too.” 

“Hell of a coincidence.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“What’s his name? Maybe we know him,” Jemma said. 

“That won’t make a difference. He doesn’t know I’m from the future. I was just a girl who needed help.” 

“Why won’t you tell us his name?” Leo asked, eyes narrowing. 

“What are you going to do with it if I do? Hunt him down, yell at him for helping me? Reveal that when we met, my parents barely knew each other and I wouldn’t be born for almost 20 years? What good will that do, Dad?” 

“You could say goodbye to him,” Jemma said. “Maybe if you see him now, you’ll be able to move on.” 

“Maybe,” she said sadly. “I don’t want to move on, though. I want to be with him.” 

“I know,” Jemma said, kissing Bitty’s hairline gently, comfortingly. “I get it, Bits.” 

“I grew up believing that I could overcome anything for love, because of what you went through to be together. But I can’t ask him to step outside of his timeline to be with me here, and I can’t go there to be with him. There’s no overcoming this. There’s just giving up. There’s moving on. There’s living the rest of my life without him.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to look him up in the system? If he’s a SHIELD agent, it’s possible he’s still alive and out there,” Leo said, and Bitty could hear that hopeful romantic in his voice, the part that made him travel the universe to get back to Jemma Simmons. 

“Maybe. I’ll think about it. If I decide, it won’t be with my mummy and daddy’s help, though,” she said. “I know how to track someone using our hub system. I got it.” 

“Will you tell us if you find him?” Jemma asked. 

“Yeah, of course, Mum,” Bitty answered, looking at the energy pack pulsating a dull glow. 

“This was a good idea,” Leo said, following her gaze. “This will get the accelerator working. Thank you, Bits. You’re a good girl.” 

He kissed her temple. 

“I love you. Thank you for being an example of what a healthy relationship should look like, should feel like. I know what a good man should be because of you, and I’ve never thanked you for that.” 

“I couldn’t ask for a better daughter,” he said. “I love you, too.” 

“You two are very cute,” Jemma said. “We did good with this one, Fitz.” 

“We did, Simmons.” 

* * *

It took 12 hours to look him up. 

She couldn’t sleep, back in her own bed, without Grant with her, without Buddy, with nightmares looming beyond the veil. She changed into a pair of yoga pants and a dark tank top, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, preparing to feign that she was going to work out if anyone asked after her. She smiled at agents that she passed, whose curious eyes followed her. She’d been gone for three weeks without a word, except that Brennan had immediately squealed when her parents asked after her and told them exactly what she’d done. 

“Can’t sleep?” Daisy asked as Bitty stepped into the control room. She was sipping hot cocoa from a mug, tucked up in a chair while files opened and closed on the hub computer screens. 

“What are you doing?” Bitty asked. 

“Updating, scanning, reuploading. Basic system maintenance. Making sure Hydra doesn’t slip in the back door while I’m sweeping.” 

“At 2 AM?” 

“Less people using the system at 2 AM. Most computer maintenance happens overnight.” 

“That’s fair.” 

“And what are you doing, Time Traveler?” 

“Couldn’t sleep. Tumultuous thing, time travel.” 

“I know,” Daisy said, smiling and taking a sip of her cocoa. 

“Of course,” Bitty replied. She’d heard those stories, too, of the team getting sent forward into a future that they’d changed. A man she’d grown up calling her uncle, Deke, actually was her son from a different future who sometimes still stared at her, sad stars in his eyes. It was all very strange. “Is it okay if I use one of the computers?” 

“Yeah, that one over there,” Daisy pointed with her mug to the corner, “completed that one first.” 

“Thank you, Daise. You’re amazing as always.” 

“I know,” she replied. 

“Hey, did Brennan get in trouble for letting me go?” 

“No, you’re both adults, and we long ago learned that if you were going to do something, no one was going to stop you. No one is ever able to.” 

Bitty grinned as that was certainly true, and took her seat at the computer. 

Daisy left her to her own devices, turning back to the system update with her cup of cocoa. Bitty had been granted access to the SHIELD database in high school when they realized that they couldn’t watch her the entire time, and it allowed her access to files they needed her to translate. 

She logged in and pulled up the personnel files, and searched for Ward, Grant. 

Grant Ward was an Agent of SHIELD, trained as a specialist, who worked with Director, then-Agent Phil Coulson and his team, including Bitty’s parents and her aunt Daisy. He was a top level agent, with coordination off the charts and minimal people skills, reviewed and assessed by _the_ Maria Hill herself. He was recruited to SHIELD by Agent John Garrett, and betrayed SHIELD and the team by being a secret Hydra agent under cover. He was the one who dropped Bitty’s parents into the ocean, causing her father to drown. Somehow, the man who held her after her nightmares and got flustered as she read him Harlequin romance novels aloud, was a part of Hydra’s uprising inside of SHIELD and SHIELD’s subsequent collapse. 

Bitty couldn’t breathe. 

She couldn’t think. 

She couldn’t move. 

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. 

Grant Ward was a monster in these files, the things that he’d done to the team, to the world. 

There had to be a different Grant Ward in the system. 

She opened a second query and ran her search again, but Grant Douglas Ward, born in Massachusetts in 1983 and recruited by John Garrett, was the only Grant Ward to ever be a part of SHIELD. 

She felt sick. 

She felt wrong. 

She felt - 

God, she still loved him, how could that possibly be? How could she still want him to show up and explain how this whole thing was a misunderstanding, that he was playing Garrett the whole time? 

“Hey Daise?” she asked, voice cracking as she looked up from the computer screen. “How accurate would you say the personnel files are?” 

“Your parents and I personally curated and corrected them, so as far as human accuracy can go. Why?” 

“No reason,” she said, shaking her head. “I just came across something surprising, that’s all.” 

She couldn’t close the file, though. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t unsee it. 

Grant Ward was Hydra. 

Grant Ward was the bad guy. 

And Grant Ward _died._

“Why are you looking into Ward?” Daisy asked, suddenly behind her, looking over her shoulder. She set the cup of cocoa, mostly empty now, on the desk and Bitty watched as Daisy read the file quickly. “What’d you find in the past, Bitty?” 

“Grant Ward,” she croaked out. 

“What?” 

“What I found in the past, was Grant Ward. 22 years old. Smiled when I talked. Asked me questions about me and my life.” 

“Bitty,” she sighed. 

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t know who he was. You’ve never said his name. None of you have. He said he knew John Garrett, who I told him to be wary of, but I didn’t know. I didn’t know, Aunt Daisy.” 

She turned and buried her face into Daisy’s stomach, and cried. Daisy, to her credit as the best aunt she’d ever had – sorry Bobbi and Yo-Yo – didn’t flinch, only stroked over the side of Bitty’s face and didn’t tell her she was stupid or wrong or should have known better. She was, though, stupid and wrong and should have known better. Of course, the gorgeous guy in the woods who made her smile and kissed her like that and selflessly drove her across the country because he didn’t want to let her go until she was home and safe, of course that man was dark and evil somewhere inside of him. But in all the time she spent with him, she never once saw it. 

“I know how you feel,” Daisy said, and there was a whole story there that Bitty hadn’t heard. 

“He was so good and charming, because he wasn’t purposefully trying to be,” Bitty whimpered. 

“He was.” 

“God, how could I fall for that?” 

“He wasn’t all bad, you know,” Daisy said. “It sounds like the Ward you know is different than our Ward. Our Ward was Hydra, toughened from Garrett’s manipulation and years as a specialist. He was isolated and used as a pawn. Your Ward was just a kid. He wasn’t SHIELD yet. He wasn’t Hydra. You just knew a man trying his best to survive.” 

“I can’t believe they’re the same person, though. How does -” 

“Years of anything will change someone, Bits. Grant Ward was a terrible person when he died, but he was our friend once. We tried to sway him to leave Garrett, to choose us, but it wasn’t enough. He’d already been under Garrett’s thumb since he was a teenager. That kind of conditioning, it was too ingrained in him. I hated him back then, but I’ve read the files over and over since, trying to figure out what went wrong, how he could turn his back on his family. But -” 

“Grant Ward didn’t really understand family, though,” Bitty said. “His family was terrible to him. He wouldn’t understand family and the warmth of having them there with you to compare with what Garrett was giving him. He would’ve gone right back to Garrett, to the one strong figure in his life that never left him. He latched on. I mean, even I left him with this idea that we’d see each other again, and we clearly couldn’t.” 

Daisy played with Bitty’s ponytail, threading her fingers through it and twirling it around gently. 

“You’re right,” Daisy agreed. “I’m sorry, Bitty.” 

“I want to help him so bad, Aunt Daise. He deserves so much better than this.” 

She gestured to the personnel file still open on the computer screen before them, Grant’s ID photo staring unblinking at them. That was a different man than the one who spent two weeks with Bitty. 

“You can’t change the past.” 

“No,” Bitty said, but even she heard the edge to her voice, and sat back. The ideas swirled in her head, the calculations, the plans. 

“Elizabeth,” Daisy warned. “I know that face.” 

“I can still try, though.” 

She was standing before she knew it, heading towards the elevator to go back to their rooms. 

“Elizabeth, don’t,” Daisy said. 

“Too late, Daise. Besides, you said it yourself, no one is going to be able to stop me now, I’ve already decided.” 

She raced down the hallway, ignoring the ache in her ankle. She could hear the sound of Daisy’s voice calling after her, and then the sound of Daisy calling someone else. Her parents, no doubt. It didn’t matter, though. 

Her parents were awake and waiting in their rooms when Bitty arrived, Fitz’s eyes sleepy and his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Grant Ward,” he said as a greeting. 

“Bitty Fitz-Simmons, actually,” she replied, snatching the bag she’d brought down into her room. She pulled out the time device. “Not sure how you could make that mistake.” 

“Elizabeth,” he said, voice sharper. “You are not going back to save _Grant Ward_.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Dad,” she said, tuning it back to 2005 and let it read her biological signature again, the shiver becoming familiar. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to do what you all couldn’t. I’m going to convince Grant that he can have a family that loves and cares for him, because he deserves to be loved unabashedly and unflinchingly for fucking once. He deserves to be happy, to have that kind of no strings attached love that you, and me, and Mum, and everyone in this base has gotten. Since he was born, Grant was kicked around and told that he wasn’t anything except a weapon, and he’s not. He’s good. He’s kind. He could have a good life, he just has to believe that.” 

“Bitty,” Jemma said from where she was sitting at their table. “Are you sure?” 

“Dad died and you searched the universe for him. You were pulled through time, and Dad waited the long way around to find you to bring you home. You are the ones that told me every night how hard you fought for each other. How can I turn my back and give up on Grant when there is a chance, even the minutest of a chance that I can change his life?” 

“What if that changes this life and you aren’t born?” Leo asked. “Is that worth the price?” 

“Yes,” she said, looking at him. “I love you, Dad, you were my first hero and my inspiration. And I hope that you will understand this someday.” 

She strapped the device around her hips, smiled at him. 

“See you around,” she said, and pressed the button. 

The universe had brought them together, choosing to send Bitty not just in time but in space to find him, to let him stumble upon her. She didn’t believe in a higher power, or anything spiritual. She believed that science explained most phenomena, and if it couldn’t be explained now, it’s just that science hadn’t advanced enough. There was nothing that couldn’t be met with logic and reason. Except, it was extremely coincidental, and highly suspicious that when her device malfunctioned, it sent her to the exact time and place to meet Grant Ward, a man who would come to know her parents. Maybe the universe was trying to tell her something, trying to fix a mistake that had been made. It didn’t matter, though, how she ended up there, or why, or if it were intentional. She’d met him anyway. She’d fallen in love with him any. 

And now? 

Now, no matter what, she was going to save Grant Ward. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so, I have no explanations for how this came about. It was just an idea in my head that wouldn't let me write anything else, no matter how hard I tried, and then I wrote 30k and couldn't just leave 30k alone in my drafts with no one to read it, so you know, here you go???? I'm potentially working on a follow up fic to this about Bitty going to find Ward, but I can't decide how/if I want to write that yet, but if you'd like to read that, let me know! Also, maybe my smut in that one won't be a weird meta thing that happened here, which I also don't regret. It was hard (lol) and made me want to die, but I did it, and it's there.  
> If you want to cry about Grant Ward, how he had the potential to be a very good boy, or the beauty of FitzSimmons' determination to stay together, even when they weren't together, or literally anything else, you can find me on tumblr and twitter as @kaytikazoo
> 
> -k


End file.
